Boy/Woman Sex

Helpless for the Summer – Chapter 2
By
Caliboy1991

Karen

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.

Copyright 2021 – Caliboy1991
All rights reserved

Helpless for the Summer – Chapter 1
By
Caliboy1991

Kelly

The doctor’s eyes stared at the back-lit x-ray image of my wrists and said, “Would you like the good news or bad news first?”

Leaning back against the uncomfortable reclining chair in the sterile exam room, I rested my head on my mom’s shoulder, tears streaking down my face. My wrists were in such pain I forgot I was twelve-year-old and that big boys don’t let their moms see them cry.  

I glanced up at my mom. She brushed a lock of brown hair from her face, clearly worried about me. She said, “How about the good news.”

The doctor pointed at the bones on the screen, “We’re not going to have to reset any broken bones. And that means that Kelly won’t have to spend the entire summer in a plaster cast.”

My effort to smile through the tears brought even more as the sharp pain shot through me from both wrists. My smile looked like a grimace. “W-, what about the bad?”

Doctor Peters had been my pediatrician my entire life. In the past, he’d always had a great sense of humor, and I hoped against hope the bad wouldn’t really be very bad.

He pointed at the image of one of my wrists. There was a line across the bone. “This is a hairline fracture. You’ll notice it on both wrists. When you fell off your bike and used your hands to brace your fall, as you can see, you broke both wrists. Luckily, your bones remained aligned. That means we don’t have to reset the bone or use a plaster cast.”

He opened a drawer and retrieved a couple of black wrist braces. “To give the bones time to heal, they still need to be immobilized. That’s why you’ll need to wear these braces for the next six weeks. But after that, you’ll be back to riding your bike and enjoying the rest of your summer. So, the bad news isn’t really all that bad.”

Despite the doctor’s soft and delicate touch, it still hurt when he put the braces on my wrists. He velcroed the brace over my right wrist and I tried wiggling my fingers. But if they moved, I couldn’t sense any movement through the incredible pain.

“Take it easy, Kelly. There’s a lot of bruising. That’ll keep your fingers from moving much for a while. But give it a week or so, and the swelling should be down enough for you to get a little bit of motion back in your fingers. Find a good book to read because your Gameboy is going to be next to impossible to play for a few weeks.”

Then he patted me on the head and turned to my mom, “Miss Jackson, a word, please.”

It irritated me Dr. Peters had patted me on my head. After all, I’d be thirteen around the time the braces could come off. Those thoughts flew from my mind when he and my mom stepped over to the door and lowered their voices. I had to strain to hear them.

“You still work over at Austin Elementary, Karen? You off for the summer?”

“Yeah.”

“Kelly’s going to be out of commission for a while. It’s good you’ll be able to take care of him while he’s recovering. Those splints need to stay on all the time, at least through the Fourth of July. Even when he’s sleeping.”

“All the time?” My mom’s voice was sharp, like she was surprised.

Dr. Peters glanced toward the x-ray, “I guess it’ll be okay if they come off when you give him a bath, but yeah, otherwise, all the time.”

Mom’s voice was low, but I still heard every word, “I haven’t given Kel a bath since he started grade school.”

Dr. Peters gave an apologetic smile, “I bet you haven’t spoon-fed him since he was a toddler either. But Kelly cannot dress or feed himself for a while. He’ll also need your help to go to the bathroom and with bathing too.”

Mom glanced at me and gave me a pensive smile. Then Dr. Peters lowered the boom, “You ought to swing by Walmart on the way home. You’ll need to pick up to pull-ups. Kelly’s going to need them.”

He picked up a clipboard and scribbled something on a sheet of paper, “Take this by the pharmacy. This’ll help with his pain.”

After propping the door open, he smiled at me apologetically. “Sorry about your summer, Kelly. We’ll see you in about six weeks.”

My summer was ruined.

***

I was in too much pain to think about everything Mom and Dr. Peters had talked about. By the time we dropped off the script at the pharmacy and were walking the aisles at Walmart, it came back to me why we were looking at diapers. I was about to turn around when I saw Mom’s face getting longer and longer.

“Mom, what’s wrong?”

Morosely, she shook her head, “It’s been so long since I’ve needed to buy diapers, I’d forgotten how expensive they are.”

I looked at where she pointed her finger. The sticker on the shelf announced the price on the diapers was almost ten dollars. And that’s before tax. It was only for a package of a dozen. Even I knew that was expensive. The thing was, things have always been tight financially, as far back as I can remember. Mom was a teacher’s aide, and that didn’t pay much. Even though Mom tried to hide it, I knew why she made all those trips to the public assistance office. I’d never complained, after all, she got all the same holidays I did and that meant she has always been there for me.

For a moment, I forgot about the mortification of wearing diapers, “Ten bucks? That’s a lot of money. What’d you do when I was a baby?”

Mom picked up the box and looked at the back. “I used cloth diapers, kiddo. And did lots of laundry. As a matter of fact, I think I still have some of your things from when you were little. I’ll look into that when we get home.”

I wanted to crawl into a hole and pull it in on me. Big boy pull-ups and cloth diapers? I only thought my summer was ruined before. Now, it surely was. But seeing the look on Mom’s face, I blinked back the tears threatening to spill onto my cheeks, “Maybe we won’t need any of these things, Mom. Why can’t I try to keep things normal?”

She gave me one of those ‘we’ll see’ looks as she said, “I don’t know, Kel. Just to be on the safe side, we’ll get one package of these. But we’ll try it your way first. How does that sound?”

I returned the skeptical look. “I dunno, Mom. It’s a lot of money.”

Mom stuff the bag of pull-ups under her arm, “I think we can swing a package of twelve. If you decide to go to Timmy’s birthday next week, you might want some pullups. That way you can go without anyone needing to help.”

***

By the time Mom stopped at Sonic to order some ice cream, I had pushed aside any thoughts about how difficult my life was about to become. That was until Mom had to put the soft-serve on a spoon and feed it to me. What could I do? My hands were worse than useless. Until they’re gone, you don’t realize how much you do with your hands. Or, as was my case, out of action until the middle of the summer.

If mom had to help me every meal, that would be a lot of meals. My mind did the math; three times seven. That’s twenty-one meals per week. Times five if I get them off by the Fourth of July. That’s over a hundred meals Mom would have to spoon-feed me.

My mood turned even darker as we drove home. I realized Mom was going to have to get me dressed at least thirty-five times until the braces could come off. This was going to royally suck. Then I thought about how many times a day I had to go pee. That was four or five times a day. Holy crap, that’s like a hundred-twenty times! God, no wonder Mom wanted to get some diapers.

I was nearly in tears by the time we got home. Even if I only got a bath twice a week, that would be at least ten times she would have to undress and bathe me. I don’t know who felt worse when we got home. Me or Mom. It had to be a close thing.

By the time I walked in our front door, the medicine Dr. Peters had prescribed kicked in and my wrists weren’t hurting as much.

Our home wasn’t much to look at. We’d rented it when Mom started working for the school. It was an old farmhouse, at least a hundred years old. It was the last house on an old gravel road with a couple of other weathered houses and some cornfields. Still, it was home. After all, it was all I knew. In the spring or fall, I loved sitting next to my mom on the old swing hanging from the roof of the covered porch.

The living room was a mess. I had scattered my action figures across the floor. I felt awful about it when I saw them. Mom had told me before I went bike riding to clean my stuff up. Now, I couldn’t. Instead, I just followed Mom through the living room and through a formal dining room we seldom used and into the kitchen at the back of the house.

Mom glanced at me, “You want any more ice cream?”

I fought back an enormous yawn and wondered what was in the meds we had picked up from the pharmacy. I was dead on my feet, “No. I’m gonna lay down for a bit.”

My room was at the front of the house, just off the living room. But you could get to it by going through my mom’s bedroom and down a narrow hallway, off of which was our bathroom. It wasn’t much. I was too embarrassed to let my friends see it. But back when it was built in the first part of the twentieth century, I’m sure it was an enormous improvement over log houses and outhouses, or hauling water from a well.

I fell into my bed fully clothed and was out of it before Mom turned on the A/C window unit.

***

I was warm, floating on a bed of air when something reached from the sky, striking my shoulder. It didn’t hurt as much as I expected. Then it happened again.

My eyes fluttered open, realization flooding into me. I had been dreaming. Mom tapped my shoulder, “Hey baby, let’s wake up. Dinner’s ready.”

Two things assaulted my senses. The first was the incredible pain in my wrists. They felt as though they were on fire. Wave after wave of pain washed over me. Whatever meds Mom had given me had worn off, and reflexively I curled into a fetal position.

That’s when the second thing assaulted my senses. My lap was wet. Just as quickly as I had curled into a ball, I scampered out of bed and looked down. There was a dark spot slowly spreading from the zipper. I had felt nothing in my sleep, but now I was awake and my bladder wasted no time in letting me know it was full and overflowing.

As if my day could get any worse, Mom saw it too. She said, “Ah, let’s get you into the bathroom, quick.”

She ran her arm around my back and guided me toward our shared bathroom as tears overwhelmed me. I had pissed myself and felt utterly humiliated. She took me over to the toilet and turned me around, facing her as she knelt before me. With quick fingers, she unbuttoned and unzipped me. As tears flowed down my cheeks, she tugged my shorts down, revealing the yellow stain spreading across the front of my tighty-whities.

She glanced at my face, “I’m sorry, baby.”

Then she pulled my underwear down. I had leaked a little, having stopped when I awoke, otherwise, Mom might have gotten a bit of a shower. I don’t think I could have handled that shame. Still, my shame was almost overwhelming. Despite being taller than average for my age, part of me hadn’t caught up with the rest of me. My penis, cold from the urine soaking the front of my underwear, hug soft between my legs. It hadn’t caught up with the rest of me. I was a good three inches taller than Mom’s five feet, but down below, I still looked like a little kid, without even a hint of pubic hair. And now my mom had seen me in all my pathetic shame.

She didn’t waste any time, gently pushing me onto the toilet, “Oh, jeez, Kel. I’m so sorry. Go ahead and finish and we’ll get you changed.”

With Mom standing in front of me, my shy bladder refused to finish what it had started. After a moment of deep concern, she turned and said, “I’ll be back in a moment, sweetheart. We’ll get you cleaned up.”

Alone in the bathroom, my bladder opened up, and I felt relief wash over me, despite the torrent of tears. By the time I glimpsed Mom by the door, I was finished. Whether it was from the hellish pain radiating from my wrists or from the complete shame I felt, I sobbed when I saw the pullup in Mom’s hand. “N-, no! N-, not that!”

She returned and knelt before me, “Hey baby, It’s okay. The meds probably made you too groggy to realize you needed to go. Let’s get you cleaned up.”

Then, to make the situation worse, she grabbed a washcloth and ran it under the sink until it was soaked in warm water. She said, “Stand up, baby. We’ll have you cleaned in no time.”

Once I was on my feet, Mom rubbed the warm, wet washrag over my junk, wiping the piss away. I’ve never felt anything like that before. Sure, I was almost thirteen and have been jacking off since before I was twelve. But the electrical shock of her hand, even through the wet rag on my flaccid penis, ran through my body. It also had an unfortunate side effect. No sooner had Mom taken the washrag away than my penis stirred. In a few heartbeats, my two flaccid inches stretched and grew until I was four and a half inches.

My wrists, enclosed in their black braces, flew to my crotch, too late for Mom to not see what I’m certain she didn’t want to see. How could it possibly get any worse? One thing I’d learned over the past few months in PE is that I was lagging behind the other boys in the seventh grade. Of course, with a July birthday, I was one of the youngest boys in my class and I guess that’s to be expected. But I was the only kid to not have even a little bit of hair downstairs. I’d even caught a couple of guys jacking off in the shower a few times. Those boys had easily sported five inches below a bush of pubes. I didn’t look much like those older boys aside from the fact we were all circumcised. I was shorter and lacked even a hint of pubic hair.

Mom had seen my penis. Worse yet, she had touched it with a washcloth and I had gotten hard. I was terribly embarrassed. Nothing was going to make this experience good. But at that moment, I wished I was more like those other boys in my PE class. I wished I was bigger, longer and had hair. At least then Mom would know I wasn’t still a little kid.

But Mom ignored my boner. She just held the pullup at my feet, “Come on. Step into it and we’ll be finished in a jiffy.”

I didn’t want to wear the diaper. They were for babies and I was almost thirteen. I sure didn’t want Mom seeing my little dick. God, what would she think of me? I must have dawdled. There was a note of exasperation in her voice, “Come on, Kel. Step into the diaper and let’s get you dressed.”

Wishing I could disappear, I put one foot, then the other, into the pullup’s legs. Mom tugged the pullups up my legs. I had no choice but to yank my wrist-brace encased hands away as she pulled my pullups to my waist, trapping my erection against the waistband. “Ouch!”

Mom’s cheeks turned a bright red, “Ah, shoot.”

She eyed the pullups, which did nothing for my erection. After too long a moment, with one hand she grabbed the elastic band and pulled it away from my waist. With the other, she gently pushed my stiffy down, trapping it inside the big-boy pullups.

She pursed her lips, “Sorry, baby. You hungry? I’ve got dinner ready.”

After dinner, she gave me another pill. That helped with the pain and I was able to join her in the living room where she put some kids’ show on the TV while she picked up my toys. Even as the pain abated, I felt terrible she was cleaning up something she had asked me to take care of before I got hurt.

After a while, I was nodding off and Mom eventually said, “Alright, kiddo, it’s bed time.”

She followed me into my room where she helped me take off my shirt and shorts. Then she said, “You dry?”

I nodded, “Yeah. I’d rather sleep in my underwear. These aren’t very comfortable.”

The truth of it was, they really weren’t uncomfortable either. It was just humiliating to be in something babies wore. I think Mom saw through it. She shook her head, “Let’s see how you handle tonight. I’m concerned the medicine may cause you to lose control of your bladder in your sleep.”

Then she went over to my chest of drawers, “Pajamas?”

I sat on my bed in a huff and shook my head. I stopped wearing t-shirts or pajama tops to bed more than a year before. I’ve slept in just my underwear since the beginning of the seventh grade.

She returned to my bed and knelt beside me, “I’m sorry about your wrists, Kel. Truly. The next few weeks are going to be tough on the two of us. I know twelve-year-olds don’t want to wear diapers and they sure as heck don’t want their moms changing those diapers or giving them baths or wiping their butts. And moms don’t really want to do those things for their boys, either. But you know what, baby? I love you more than you can ever imagine and if I have to do those things, then I’m going to do them because I love you.”

Copyright 2021 – Caliboy1991
All rights reserved