Author's Note: See how this plays out. The thought of Amber Gilt is putting Damian off his game on the streets. Attempts to rectify it in the cave afterwards, lead to bigger problems…
Please Read and Review to tell me whether this story is heading in the right direction or not. I have at least two more chapters planned if this is well-received.
Enjoy.
Pressure
I do not understand. Tonight during patrol duties, I was both poor in execution and inattentive when engaged in combat. That girl is to blame. I cannot stop imagining her chest for reasons I have yet to explain. However, this is not the element of this evening I do not understand. It is Father's attitude following patrol duties I fail to grasp. Normally so quick to jump down my throat for needless error and chastise me for such behavior – as a good father should – tonight he has only advised me to improve my efforts for the next patrol. There were no admonishments, no faces of disappointment or disgust and no lecture. He even lost his mind and smiled at me afterwards in something akin to pride. He assured me next time I would perform better. It was bewildering and left me feeling empty. Strangely I find the only I hate more than being reprimanded by him, is not being scolded when I deserve such scorn. So I elect to punish myself.
I have been running drills and manoeuvres in the cave for almost two hours without pause. Normally I am as perfect in practice as I am on the streets. This time I am as bad in practice as I was on the streets this evening. That stupid girl and her bosom keep distracting me at key moments. Whenever I am about to deliver an inch-perfect heel kick to a mannequin's face, I see her pouting at me. I hit it left of centre instead. Were it a perpetrator, I would crack his orbital socket and possibly his nose. While this is of no concern to me, my father would not like it and label it as reckless. The same startling effect occurs when I perform a handspring followed by a standard three-punch combination. The first blow is perfect, as is the second. The third is right of the target, extreme right. My shoulder moves too early. It is because I see her hands pressed against her chest. When I fail yet another simple eight-phase combat drill, I shriek in frustration.
I deliver a side kick that sends the mannequin and two others skittering across the cave floor. I stand still and attempt to push the images from my head by means of meditation. After two minutes of concentration, the images are still in place. The only thing I have achieved is enough clock spring pressure in my groin to permit elevation. Its new state is clearly visible through my training clothes, their damp and form-hugging characteristics not helping at all. I roll my eyes when I feel it straining against the Lycra. Puberty. I look down at it in distaste. This is puberty. Carnal thoughts are ruining my battle rhythms. And their arrival is early. I try to will it to go away with memories of Todd shooting me, bathroom troubles when I was confined to a wheelchair and discovering Mother controlled me with a chip in my spine. It does not want to go it seems. I roll my eyes again.
"Damian?"
I tense up. Father is calling me from across the cave. I did not hear him enter. I desperately try to tame my groin's parlor trick as footfalls advance in my direction. It does not wish to depart. It appears ready and willing to ruin my life. The footfalls are so close that he can only be a few feet away. Then they stop. I hear him clear his throat. He wants me to face him. The pressure refuses to dissipate. I do not wish to defy him, but unless such unwelcome guests have become socially acceptable to display I must not turn.
"Forgive my rudeness, Father. At present, certain…factors prevent me from facing you." I say, feeling my face begin to flush. He muses on my answer.
"Hnn. Are these…factors perhaps related to Ms. Gilt and your current attire?" He inquires with a perception I am beginning to privately hate. He already knows my predicament, has already formed images in his mind relating to it and is probably smiling in amusement as a consequence. The heat of my face is overwhelming. I nod my head. I hear him draw directly behind me. I cannot help my hands from instinctively trying to cover my shame. A moment later a towel is dangled in front of my face.
"In that case, this might help us talk face-to-face whilst we wait for your…factors to correct themselves."
"Please don't look, Father." I say without moving my hands to reach for the solution. A large hand pats me on the shoulder.
"I promise I won't, son." He assures me, "I am looking away." I snatch the towel and fasten it around my waist. Fortunately, it is too thick for anything to show through. I turn around to face him. He is still looking elsewhere. I feel my face cool slightly. He has not seen it. Nothing can be seen now. I still feel the pressure though. I clear my throat. He looks from his distant point to my face. "May I speak to you now?" He asks. I nod and gesture to the bench some ten feet away.
"Please do, Father."
We sit, but my position is made awkward by the pressure in my shorts and the uncomfortable way the fabric is restraining it. My discomfort must show on my face as my father suggests I make use of the shower facilities and change into different clothing. I shake my head. "Just tell me what you wish me to hear and I will shower and change in the privacy of my own room."
"Very well. I am aware that your recent poor form is not your fault, but likely due to hormonal changes. That is why I have not admonished you for your mistakes. However, that does not mean you must inflict punishment on yourself instead. I disapprove of you overcompensating for faults by such brutal measures. Have you even had water since you began?"
"No Father."
"You are an eleven-year-old boy, Damian, not some species of camel."
"Actually Father, the idea that camels store water in their humps is-"
"I am aware of this falsehood, son. I was merely pointing out your body needs constant water if you are in engage in such high physical activity. I do not wish you to succumb to heat illness." He tells me whilst offering a fresh bottle of water from the side of the bench. I incline my head and take it.
"Yes Father. Is that all you wish to say?" I ask sipping from the bottle and hoping he will leave me. The pressure has finally eased.
"No. I wish to know why you have yet to call Ms. Gilt for a follow-up." The mention of her name is enough to turn the pressure back up until it is painful. "It has been over a week since the gala and you have yet to call her." I cannot stand this ridiculous situation any longer. I punch myself in the groin and double-over in fresh agony. The pressure is forgotten as I slump to the floor and endure the new pain as it floods my nervous system. I hear him stand up. Perhaps he has seen enough to leave me to my own devices. No footfalls follow his decision to stand. Suddenly I feel his hand on my forehead.
My screwed eyes open to find him lying opposite me on the floor, his arm propping up his head. He is smiling in sympathy. I hate it. "I must admit to have never seen such a solution occur to Dick when he endured similar troubles. Will you be requiring ice?" I grimace in answering him.
"No Father. I just need it to go away."
"Well, punching it is not helpful. Why not take your mind off it?" He suggests with stupidity I can scarcely believe.
"How can I possibly do that now?"
"Tell me about Amber. You have offered nothing beyond her name. I'm curious what kind of person could have reduced you to such desperation." He suggests. I roll my eyes back in my head until I am gazing at the ceiling. I sigh.
"Can't you see I'm embarrassed enough?"
"Would you rather I get Alfred to-"
"No! No Father…please don't." I am now utterly humiliated. My tone was as close to pleading as I have ever come in my life. And not only has my father heard it, he has seen it in my eyes. I cannot look at him. Despite my horror at this situation, I am relieved to discover the pressure has abated to nothing. It has apparently fallen in line with my ego and pride in shrinking back. "It's gone now." I inform him casting the towel to one side as proof of its absence, "It's gone."
"But surely as soon as I utter her name again, it will return. How will you cope with such a disability? Will you always wear a towel from now on?" He inquires facetiously. Why is he only jovial when I am in pain or embarrassed? Is my weakness really such a source of entertainment for him? With my physical handicap no longer an issue for the moment, I am able to glare at him. He ruffles my hair. It again feels an inappropriate gesture given the circumstances. "I apologize, son. I did not mean to upset you. I just want a more permanent solution that does not involve hitting yourself. You may wish for children of your own one day."
"Not if this is what I have to look forward to."
"Amber Gilt." My father says. I hurriedly cover my groin in anticipation of another uprising. Nothing happens. I frown at the old man. He shakes his head. "All of this is perfectly normal, Damian. Your adolescence is not something you can control or master like a skill or strike. You must just do your best. It is unpredictable and therefore impossible to accurately chart."
"Then I can't meet her, Father. I will not risk the chance of further embarrassments occurring without warning." I say resolutely whilst sitting up. My father sits up too. He looks disappointed in my choice.
"That is defeatist. It is an attitude that does not suit you, boy."
"But I like her, Father. I mean I actually wish to spend more time in her company. How is that possible with this-"
"Consider this Damian: you have fought all manner of monsters and ghouls over your life. You have achieved feats that no other boy on this planet can claim and made choices other children your age cannot understand. Are you really going to deny yourself Ms. Gilt's friendship…over an erection?" I stare at him in bewilderment, unable to quite believe he has just articulated the word as if commonly discussed.
"How can you say it so casually?" I ask. He smiles and puts a hand on my shoulder.
"Do you believe you're the only boy to ever suffer an unwanted erection? I can say it that casually because I've suffered them too. Every man in the world has. Because we were all your age once. Such things are inevitable and part of growing-up. You will be fine, I promise."
"How can you promise such an impossible thing?" I scoff. His hand squeezes the flesh of my shoulder.
"Because I am your father. We share more in common than just blood. I was an angry eleven-year-old grappling with the early onset of adolescence too. Alfred tried to help but I wanted my father. Of course by that time he was not there, neither of my parents were. At times, I felt completely alone and scared of changes I did not want or understand. But, even without my father, I made it through puberty in one piece. And if I can make it, you definitely can. Not just because you are my son, but because I am here with you." I have misjudged the old man. I forget his past easily, discounting his sadness because of wealth and prestige. I am glad he is here. There is no-one else I would rather give me counsel than him.
"I suppose I could call her." I say with a shrug, "perhaps she would enjoy some gymnastics training, or we could play more games. She is very fond of the latter, Father." I add. He nods in agreement.
"Invite her here if you wish. I could have Alfred pick her up."
"I don't think she would like too much pageantry, Father. For a girl, I find her unusually pragmatic." I offer. He squeezes my shoulder again.
"You will never know unless you call her. So?"
"I will call her, Father." I decide, shrugging his hand off and getting to my feet. "Please excuse me." I turn around and begin to walk towards the stairs.
"Damian?"
"Yes, Father?"
He throws the towel at me and I catch it in one hand. He smiles at me. "Just in case."