Helpless for the Summer – Chapter 2
The most stressful day of my life was when I found out I was pregnant at fifteen. Thirteen years ago. This was the second most stressful day of my life. My son, Kelly, is my moon and stars. And he gave me the scare of my life. He was racing his bike down the country road in front of our house when he hit a pothole and went flying off his bike. He tried to stop himself from hitting the ground too hard and ended up breaking both of his wrists.
I called his pediatrician, Dr. Peters, who was able to get us in right away. If we lived in a larger city, I’m not sure that would have happened. Thank God for country doctors. Anyway, the doctor x-rayed Kel and discovered that he’d fractured both wrists. My baby would have to wear wrist braces for six weeks.
Dr. Peters was direct and honest about Kel’s situation. It was going to be bad. My baby wouldn’t be able to do anything for himself for first six weeks of summer. That meant I’d have to spoon-feed him three times a day, help him with going to the bathroom, and even give him baths.
So, what’s a girl to do? The first thing was to go by Wally-world and pick up some diapers for my little man. But heaven help me, I’d forgotten how expensive they were. My job as a teacher’s aide at the local elementary school doesn’t pay much, but between public assistance and a housing voucher, we get by. A month’s supply of big boy diapers was going to put a real dent in our summer budget. Across the aisle from the disposable diapers, I saw some old-style cloth diapers, and I remembered I had never thrown out or given away the cloth diapers I’d used when Kelly was a toddler. I decided to pick up a single package of disposables and then see what I had available at the house.
When we got home, Kelly laid down for a bit while I climbed into the attic. I went through three boxes of baby clothes before I found a stack of cloth diapers. There must have been twenty or more thick white square towels that I’d folded up and wrapped around my baby when he was little. I picked one up and eyeballed it. Not really knowing what I was doing, I’d bought them larger than I’d needed to more than a decade ago and folded them down to his size. I might not have to fold it as many times as I had when he was two or three, but my little boy could still wear them, and that would save a lot of money this summer. Setting the towels aside, I also found baby powder, safety pins and a box of wipes I had never opened.
Even though I knew I would do lots of laundry, I felt better knowing I’d been down this road before and felt as though I could handle it again. After all, it would only be for a few weeks. After hauling all the stuff I’d need out of the attic and into my room, I fixed spaghetti and meat sauce, one of Kelly’s favorite meals, before going into his room and waking him up.
Imagine my surprise to find the front of my son’s shorts already wet. I hustled him into the bathroom and then undressed him, which had to be humiliating. After all, Kelly was just a couple of months short of his thirteenth birthday and already about three inches taller than me. And I’m the one who has to change his diapers! He was so embarrassed.
He sat down and finished what he’d started in his underwear. I figured the pain medication had to be affecting his bladder control when asleep. If that were the case, the next few weeks would be torture, changing wet diapers every morning or after naps.
I got the shock of my life after wiping the urine from around his groin. His penis sprang to life. I think the last time I have seen Kelly erect was when he was a toddler and I was still potty training him. What a difference a decade makes. Kelly was about halfway between four and five inches when erect. Seeing the long nail of flesh pointing into the air made my stomach flutter and left me feeling confused. Living in a small town, and staying away from the bars, I hadn’t been with a man since I got knocked up and pregnant with Kelly. It really had been too long since I saw my last erection.
I looked away and told my son to step into the pull-up. Maybe if I didn’t make anything out of this, Kelly wouldn’t either. It was embarrassing enough for the both of us. “Come on. Step into it and we’ll be finished in a jiffy.”
Kelly tried to hide his erection behind his wrists. The pleading look he sent my way left no doubt he still wasn’t sold on wearing the pull-ups. But what choice was there, if he had already peed on himself when he took a nap?
I swear, his erection quivered, hardly hidden behind his wrists. Ignoring the fluttering in my stomach, I repeated, “Come on, Kel. Step into the diaper and let’s get you dressed.”
Finally, he responded by stepping into the legs. I pulled the pull-ups up his legs and ignored the fleshy pole protruding from his groin. Until the waistband smacked it. “Ouch!”
I felt about two inches high when I realized I’d hurt Kelly’s penis. I grumbled, “Oh, shit!”
I didn’t know what to do. Panicking, I pulled the elastic band away from his skin and then, as gingerly as possible, pushed Kelly’s erection back inside the pull-up; I felt surprised at the warmth and steely softness of his skin. I was awash in self-doubt and shame as I stood and said, “Sorry about that, baby. Let’s go eat.”
Dinner proved to be a challenge. Spaghetti is the wrong first meal to spoon-feed someone else. I should have picked mashed potatoes. Anything but spaghetti. I twirled the noodles around a fork and had to feed Kelly every bite. I was uncomfortable with Kelly’s handicap. But he was embarrassed beyond words. We spent the entire meal with him sporting crimson cheeks even as he took every bite offered. I guess it was one of those things where his needs outweighed his shame.
After dinner, I let him join me in the living room where we watched one of my TV shows. He was almost asleep when I finally rousted him to bed. Usually, Kelly would be the last person to crawl onto the couch next to his momma and watch TV. But if the day had been tough for me, how much worse had it been for him? His wrists lay by his side and his head propped against my shoulder. I couldn’t help but study my son for the first time in I don’t know how long. Kelly was a boy of contrasts. Even though he was only a couple of months shy of turning thirteen, he still loved playing with his GI Joes, even though he had passed me by height-wise earlier in the year. His face had never had much baby fat, always being a bit angular. But it was more so now, not unlike a teenager’s.
I nudged him awake at the end of the show, “Time for bed, baby.”
“Alright.” His voice was clear and unbroken. He didn’t sing often, but when he did, he could melt my heart with his soprano voice. I knew the day was coming when that delightful voice would break, and it would fall in pitch. Part of me hoped that time was a long time coming.
I followed Kelly into his bedroom and helped him undress, pulling off a pair of shorts. When he refused anything but the pull-up, it was just another reminder of how close he was to leaving childhood behind. I visited with him for a bit before tucking him into bed. Before leaving for my bedroom, I gave him a kiss on the cheek, “Good night, Kel.”
When I turned off the light, he replied, “Good night, Mom.”
Once in my bedroom, I undressed, replacing the torture device called my bra with a loose fitting tank-top I got from school where I work. I was emotionally exhausted; All I wanted was to crawl into bed and pretend the day hadn’t happened. I guess Kelly wasn’t the only one who had given up on pajamas—at least tonight.
Once under the bed covers, I couldn’t shut my mind off. It was still spinning a mile-a-minute. Even though I thought I’d done well ignoring certain things when I put Kelly in a pull-up, I had only delayed thinking about it. Now, with the light off and the house quiet, my mind wouldn’t turn loose of the smooth tube of flesh poking out from Kelly’s middle. Maybe if I hadn’t wiped the urine from his penis, Kelly wouldn’t have become erect.
But he had, and putting his penis from my memory was proving difficult. Kelly is tall for his age and I guess that makes his penis look small on his growing frame. I barely knew his father when he was Kelly’s age to know how my son compared. And his dad hadn’t been in the picture since making his little contribution, leaving me to raise my son alone. Still, as I closed my eyes and tried to sleep, I recalled a memory from my childhood.
I had been eleven. My older brother and his friends were going to the movies, and I wanted to go too. At first Jules told me there was no way I could go. But I was persistent and wore him down until he threw up his hands in frustration and said, “Fine, Karen. You can go. But only on one condition. You’ve gotta show us your pussy.”
I’m sure he thought I’d be too embarrassed to do what he wanted, or to tell our parents. And truth be told, I nearly refused. But I had an epiphany. I said, “Fine, but only if you boys show me your dicks.”
Growing up with an older brother, I knew the lingo. After all, Jules had a bit of a potty mouth. When I countered my older brother’s demand, I wasn’t sure what would happen. Would he refuse or tell me to forget it and let me come along anyway? At fourteen, my older brother was the oldest of his little clique of friends. Paul and Thomas were both twelve and followed my brother around like little puppies.
“Fine,” Jules said with a smirk, “You go first.”
I really wanted to hang out with them, so I dropped my shorts and panties and exposed my hairless slit. My brother shrugged and unfastened his belt and pulled the front of his pants down until his penis popped out. He was soft, perhaps three inches, although it was hard to tell because a thick bush of hair partially hid it. Paul went next. He was staring at my slit when he pulled his shorts down.
I gasped when his penis appeared. It sprang from his underwear, coming to attention, pointing toward the sky. He was somewhere between five and six inches long. Unlike my brother’s bush, Paul only had a smattering of pubes, leaving his erection fully exposed. My brother may not have reacted to my slit, but Paul’s erection made Jules’ penis spring to life. Fully erect, my brother was almost six inches. Last to go was the shortest, Thomas. He was a few inches below five feet tall. When he yanked his pants down, he was just as hard as Paul and Jules. But he was smaller. Not quite five inches long with a few stray strands of hair over his shaft.
My baby was older than two of those three boys from my childhood. I couldn’t help but remember how smooth Kelly was when I pulled his wet underwear down. Apart from the near-microscopic baby hairs he’d always had, there had been no other hair around his groin. Not a one.
Kelly had been just as erect as Jules and his friends had been all those years ago. His erection had been smaller than even the youngest of those boys from my childhood. I rolled over in my bed, pushing my sheets aside. As a mother, even though I would never talk about it, I’ve always hoped Kelly would be well endowed. What mother doesn’t want that for her son? But for now, at least, Kelly wasn’t.
It was a long time before I fell asleep. My mind kept replaying that moment after I cleaned him when Kelly’s penis swelled and became erect.
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