Two Sides to Every Story (1)

By PB.

There are two sides to every story.

But I'm not going to tell you this tale of a boy, his penis and his sister. Let's let Tom and Monica tell you for themselves.

(Monica, by the way, is strawberry-blonde and studious and smiles a lot. Though she actually works in a fast-food joint, she'd make a great librarian. And Tom is ... well ... you can draw your own conclusions.)

"Yes! Yes please. Please!"

She was grasping it by the base, squatting down before me as I sat spread-legged on the straight-backed kitchen chair, my undies round my ankles.

She rubbed her hand up and down, experimentally, making it stand harder than ever.

"It feels good for you, doesn't it." she reflected. "But I have to do something. Mummy would have known what to do."

We didn't often mention our mother, not since she had died in a car smash almost a year before. My sister Monica had been the acting head of the family ever since.

"Please don't cut it Monica."

I had no pride now, no adolescent defiance left in me. In the little things, the daily round of whose turn it was to do the dishes, how late I could stay up at night, stuff like that, I'd never really obeyed Monica, or never very willingly, but now there was no question.

She had the power.

By shouting and arguing, like I did over domestic things, I'd only make her more determined. If I made her assert her authority, there could only be one result.

She'd castrate me.

I was really frightened, and I knew that she could do it if she wanted to.

"Please don't cut it off Monica." I repeated.

It started with a form letter. Someone had crossed out "Mrs" and written Monica's name and filled in the blanks.

It was addressed to Monica, of course, but she let me read it for myself. I guess it was the easiest way of telling me what the situation was.

I turned the page.

I won't even try to describe the dread I felt. The first page was awful for me, but this was utter disaster. Oh God! It terrified me. For a long time I just stared at the handwritten comments on the form, my eyes flicking from one damning phrase to another: 'castration', 'penectomy', 'surgical therapy', 'thorough circumcision'. Over and over again I looked for saving phrases like 'non-surgical intervention' or at least maybe 'final warning'. There were none. There was no doubt. My masturbating days were over.

Finally convinced, I raised my eyes, looked across the table to gauge Monica's expression. I'd expected nothing else: it was her 'more in sorrow than in anger' look. There was not a chance she'd change her mind. Mum would have had me bending over for a thrashing by now, and then sent me straight to bed with an earful. And tomorrow, when her first flash of anger passed, I'd have found a way to talk her into giving me another chance. Not Monica. Not with that look on her face. Monica is by nature soft and vague and easy-going, but once she really makes her mind up nothing makes her change it.

I dropped my eyes again, stared unseeing at the letter. It was so unfair! It wasn't like I was a compulsive masturbator. I could stop it if I wanted to. I'd just been unlucky. Those few times at school, well, I'd had reasons. I mean, you try getting an eyeful of a thirteen-year-old schoolgirl's little swollen tits when she doesn't wear a bra and she bends over to pick up a wallet. OK, I admit I dropped it, but it just happened. It wasn't like I meant any harm by it. And the other times weren't my fault either. Not really.

Anyway, it wasn't really school that got me started. Mostly I did it at home, in bed or in the shower, usually. Not all that often at first, but twice a day now. In a way, it was partly Monica's fault.

She'd never think of herself as being immodest, but sometimes she got careless with the way she dressed inside the house. I guess, with just me and her around, she didn't think of it. Or if she did she figured I was her brother and just a kid. I don't think Monica ever realized how many times I'd got a guilty thrill from seeing her in bra and undies. And she certainly didn't know about the times I'd 'casually arrange' to get an eyeful - in the bathroom mostly. And two or three times I'd sneaked into her room while she was out and sniffed her panties. I felt kind of worse about that than I did about seeing her in the shower or something.

I looked up again. In her face there was a touch of kindness, of sympathy even, but not a sign of indecision. I was for the chop.

I read it over lunch and nearly choked. I suppose it is common enough - but not in our family. I was shocked, dismayed, and really angry with Tom for putting me in this position. His mother would have thrashed him!

But there was no point getting angry. He'd got himself into trouble and it was up to me to deal with it. I guessed the first thing to do was talk to the - what was she called again? Oh yes, the Hygiene Coordinator. I called the school and made an appointment for Wednesday afternoon. I didn't really know anything about all this stuff. I mean, mothers are supposed to know, but I'm not a mother (not yet anyway), just Tom's older sister. He's twelve, I'm nineteen. Since Mum died we've been on our own. I have to work to pay his school fees and stuff. I do the breakfast shift at a fast-food restaurant, six till one.

I didn't say anything to Tom when he got home. Time enough for that when I'd worked out what to do about it.

The interview wasn't as bad as I'd feared. The Hygiene Coordinator was rather busy but she was nice about it. I won't bore you with the details, just let's say that she made it pretty clear: if I didn't do something about Tom's masturbating he'd probably get expelled from school. It wasn't like she made a threat of it, she just explained the school policy for me and gave me some advice on how to deal with it.

On the way home I pondered my options. I could take him to a clinic, but it's quite expensive. We own the house but I don't earn a lot and with two of us to feed and clothe there's never much left over. Tom's school is very upper-class and costs a fortune. They don't have many kids as poor as us. It was different when my folks were alive, of course. I certainly couldn't afford the hormone treatments. And I didn't feel quite right about the clinic idea anyway. Somehow it didn't seem fair to Tom. I thought about how much I hated going to the doctor for a pelvic examination, stripping and letting him touch my private parts - how much worse would it be if he was going to cut something off down there?

No, best to do it myself. At least I was family. The Hygiene Coordinator had given me some pamphlets in an envelope and recommended some reading. I stopped the car and flicked through them: a list of recommended clinics, Why Children Masturbate, a page about sedative drugs, Soothe your Child with Female Hormones, ahh, there it was, Do it Yourself Castration Kits: a guide for parents.

It felt really embarrassing, walking into a chemist shop and asking for a home castration kit. To make it worse, the pharmacist asked me what sort of kit and I didn't know what to say.

"Well, is it a boy or a girl?"

"A boy," I mumbled.

"I guess you want a male infant circumcision kit then. We've got three to choose from. Now this one is for -"

I cut him off and explained about Thomas and the school and how I was his guardian and everything, and I didn't know what to do. Once he got the idea he was very helpful - at least he helped himself to most of the balance of my credit card. I found myself walking out with a large box with a plastic carry handle labelled "Super Deluxe Complete Home Castration Kit". Underneath it said "One kit for the whole family. Suits boys and girls of any age. Full, easy-to-follow instructions included". I made him put it in a plain wrapper for me and tried not to think about my credit card limit.

I put the box in my room, at the back of the wardrobe where Tom wouldn't see it, and tried to get back to my normal routine. I hadn't got back till after six but it was Tom's turn to cook so by the time I'd had a shower he had dinner ready. (He's pretty good in the kitchen - pretty good about doing his share of most things actually. Ironing I'm still working on.) He wanted to know where I'd been all afternoon. I could have lied, but I just said I'd tell him later. After dinner. I wasn't looking forward to it.

Dad always used to say if you have to do something unpleasant that the worst part is the waiting. The longer you put it off, the harder it gets. (Dad died when Tom was seven - we're not a lucky family.) So I made a start right after dinner: told Tom where I'd been, showed him the letter from the school, let him read it for himself. He must have known it was coming, or at least suspected, but he went into shock. I could see it: he turned pale, white as a sheet.

It was disturbing for me to have to take a look at him but he didn't resist at all when I told him to undress so that I could see his testicles and penis. If nothing else, I needed to know what size it was. I'd seen it before, of course - we'd shared a house all our lives - but I hadn't seen it up close or recently.

I hadn't realized how much he'd grown. I don't think I'd seen pubic hair on him before. His balls were almost adult-sized, wrinkly and covered in thin brown hair. And his penis was bigger too. It was soft and sort of narrow at the end and wrinkly-tipped, not full-grown yet, but getting there. (I'm not a virgin, so I'd seen penises before. Only once or twice; I'm not a good-time girl either.)

I examined it quite carefully and he just sat and let me do it. I could tell he wasn't circumcised. I'd never really looked up close at one like this before.

(I think David and Howard, the two boys I'd been with, had both been circumcised. I tried to remember what David's thing had been like: bigger, of course, and sort of less mysterious, but that had been back before Mum died. I hadn't had time to have a boyfriend since then.)

Tom's thing was different though, it had more skin on it. Curious, I gently pushed the loose wrinkly band of his foreskin back to look inside. He was pink and moist and his penis-head was quite small, like a pointy arrow-head. It felt funny, sort of squishy.

Tom was slowly coming out of shock now, and so was his thing. I could feel it growing bigger in my fingers. I reached underneath it to feel his testicles. As I watched his penis stood up stiff and the skin rolled back all by itself to sit half-way down his penis-head. I guess it was about three, probably four inches long, quite narrow though. Still, I didn't think a child-sized castration kit would fit. Just as well I'd let the chemist sell me the multi-size one, Tom was bigger than I'd thought.

He was mortified about getting an erection in front of me, and he must have known that I'd see it as a final proof that it needed cutting. He was pleading with me now, saying he'd never masturbate again, promising anything to make me change my mind. But I'd expected that. Even without reading the stuff that came with the kit I figured it was normal. Poor Thomas. It was going to be so hard for him. I left him to dress himself and think about things. I went to my room and opened the castration kit.

It certainly was complete! It had about eight different kinds of tools for cutting penises, two or three rubber things for testicles and several smaller tools for the clitoris. They made me shudder. I hadn't been circumcised and I didn't want to think about having one of those things put up between my legs, inside my sex, to cut my ... eauggh! It sent shivers down my spine.

Right at the bottom was the book of instructions - and I do mean book, it was about 200 pages. Most of it was background stuff: sort of general motherhood tips with jaunty chapter headings like Is it wise to circumcise? and Sugar and spice deserves a slice. (I didn't even look at that chapter!) The actual instructions were right at the end, with sections on all the different operations for babies, for children, for adolescents and even adults.

After a while I realized that what I really needed to know wasn't how to do the actual cutting, not just yet anyway, but how to work out what the best thing to do was. The obvious cure was castration. If I took his testicles off he'd settle down and study hard and he could still stand up to pee. I don't know why I thought that was important. Wouldn't that be the best for him? Or maybe ... It was no use just tossing ideas around inside my head like this. I flipped back through the chapter headings, found one called Different strokes for different folks, skimmed through it. It started:

"Should you circumcise your boy, snip his testis, or remove his penis? For your girl child, is it best to leave her little parts alone, to snip her clitoris off, or give her the clean-cut and simple look of a really thorough circumcision? The answer to both questions is: 'it all depends'. That's what this chapter is about, helping you decide."

This was what I needed to know. I settled down to read.

Without thinking about it any longer, I bent down and put my eye to the keyhole. I could see her, sitting at her desk side on to me, in her dressing gown. She seemed to be reading.

I don't know how long I watched her for, quite a while. I didn't think she'd catch me, she was too wrapped up in what she was doing. There in the privacy of her bedroom she was half-undressed and I couldn't see much that I didn't see every day but it was making me horny. She kept moving around in her chair; her gown was open at the front and I could almost see her breasts. By the way they moved underneath the fabric, I could tell she had taken her bra off. Sister or not, she had the most gorgeous body. I'd perved on her before, in the bathroom, getting changed at the beach, or when she got up at night to pee, and she'd always had the same effect on me. I could feel it sticking up inside my pants.

I didn't need to see the title of the book she was so engrossed in. It just had to be something that the school had given her, something to do with having me castrated. I rubbed my hand up and down outside my trousers, rubbing my cock against it. Monica would decide to cut off my balls, or my penis, or maybe my foreskin, and there was nothing I could do about it. I was in her power and for some reason thinking about it made me harder than ever.

Now she was reaching down beside her chair for something - I could almost see her tits the way her gown fell half-open - sitting up again, holding some kind of black rubber ring with a handle. She pushed the handle in, the ring got larger, pulled it out again and the hole compressed to almost nothing. In my mind's eye I could see her using it on ... on my penis? No, it had to be for testicles. Slip the ring on, pull it tight - she was going to cut my testicles off!

Now she was doing something else I couldn't quite make out at first, still sitting there at the desk but even more concentrated now. I realized she had her hand, the one on the side away from me, between her legs. She was jiggling, touching herself on her private parts, moving her hips, masturbating! I'd never seen a girl doing that before. Thinking about cutting my balls off made her horny! Prim and proper Monica with her hand between her legs, masturbating! By this time I had grasped my penis through my clothes and started silently humping my hips against my hand. Suddenly I saw Monica's body arch and tense, her gown coming open and her breasts flopping out as she thrust her hips forward in the chair and softly moaned, twice, three times, very quietly but with tremendous passion, moaned again with lust or guilt or ecstasy before she slumped down, staring into space, spent.

Oh my God! If she caught me now I was dead meat! I made to straighten up and get out of there and, as if she'd heard me, she suddenly looked straight at the keyhole. I froze, held my breath, my heart thumping in my ears so I thought she'd hear it, and the terror of that moment was absolute. But it passed. She looked away again and I took just one silent step before I heard her chair scrape back. Five more paces and I was at my bedroom door - luckily it was open - and I slipped inside and dived into bed without even taking my shoes off.

I needn't have bothered. She didn't leave her room after all, and I guess she was just getting up to go to bed. Under the covers I undressed and played back what I'd seen. Keeping an ear open just in case, I started masturbating, thinking of Monica's tits, the way she'd moaned, her hand between her legs. Eventually, I went to sleep.