The Great Depression was a difficult time, both in the city and in the country. My family were farmers, and although we almost lost our California farm near Modesto in 1932, by 1936, in part with help from the New Deal, we were back on track.
Then tragedy struck. My father was driving our Ford truck, with me in the passenger seat, with a crop of our prize-winning oranges for sale to the well-off city folk of San Francisco. We were hit at head-on by a drunk in a Cadillac, and my Dad didn't make it. I was injured and my hands were completely bandaged from all the cuts.
My Mom Sarah worked as a nurse at the small Modesto hospital where I ended up. But soon our bills were adding up, and so she took me home to care for me, and took some time off from her job. I was in-and-out for the first couple of days, since I had a bump on my head as well. But by the time she got me home I was in pain and a bit out of it, but stable. My hands, however, would be bandaged for at least another day, and so she needed to take care of me.
Plus on top of that Mom had my little sister Piper to take care of, who was still a baby of one. She had daycare at the hospital, but now Piper was home with us too, as my Mom was figuring out what to do.
Sarah wasn't my birth Mom, although she was the only Mom I'd ever known. My birth mother Celia had passed away bringing me into this world, which was something I still felt guilty about. My Dad Charlie had married Sarah a few years later, but my sister Piper had only arrived recently. I knew they'd wanted to have a child sooner. By the time Piper had arrived they had almost given up hope.
And now we were three, which was something I still couldn't quite grasp. My Dad had been a good man--hard working, good to all of us, and in love with the land. And oh, he loved those oranges. Our seedless and sweet navel oranges were his pride and joy. And we were finally making good money from them.
Now Sarah was next to my bed, feeding me chicken noodle soup, and giving me swallows of water from a glass, and saying, "What it comes down to John is this--if I keep my job at the hospital we'll lose the farm. There's just no way around that. I know you wanted to go to UCLA next year. But son, I need you here. I need you to take over what your father did. You know how to run this farm almost as well as he did. I need you to become the man of the house. I know that's asking a lot of you, but that's what I'm asking."
Before I could even answer, she went on, while continuing to feed me, saying, "Your father's life insurance wasn't large. Ten thousand dollars will keep us afloat for a few years, but we'll need to buy a new truck. And we've got to use some of that to hire more hands, especially with your hands injured like this. Plus the hospital bills were a lot. Your father was barely alive when he was bought in to the hospital. I didn't tell you that before. He wasn't conscious, but they took him into surgery, did a blood transfusion, and so on. He lingered on for almost a day. The bill for that will probably be around a thousand. Plus the funeral bill. And your bill was few hundred, and was adding up every day, which is why I brought you home."
Then she added, in a somewhat strange and kind-of suspicious tone of voice, "Oh, by the way, your girlfriend Stacy has been calling. She's coming by tomorrow. She also sent those flowers there that are by your bed."
"Thanks, Mom," I said, as she wiped my lips with a napkin, and then gave me another few swallows of water.
I added, "I need to think about it, Mom. I feel all mixed up. Stacy and I had plans for what we were going to do at UCLA, and even beyond. But yes, I can see that you need somehow to try make the farm work, and I know I could help. It's just a big decision. And Mom...I don't know if you thought all this out, having me home, I mean, with my hands still bandaged. I'm sorry, but I need to go to the bathroom. In the hospital the nurses helped me. It was embarrassing, but..."
Sarah said with a little laugh, "As you know, I'm a nurse too! I've helped many injured men in that way. You're a mature young man, and so I think we'll make do. Let me get this tray out of your way."
My Mom was 38 when all this happened, but she looked at least a few years younger. Her dark hair had only a little grey, and her fair and slightly freckled and pretty face only had a few wrinkles around the eyes. She had a nice figure, and had recently told me she weighed a hundred and thirty pounds when were were comparing weights, and was happy she'd gotten that down from one forty after the birth of Piper.
I was a slender a hundred and sixty then, and six feet tall. From working on the farm I had a well-muscled body, which my girlfriend Stacy admired.
As I followed my Mom into the bathroom, she said, "Even with your bandaged hands, you might still be able to push down your pajamas. But I know your hands are painful now, and so I can certainly do that too. As you'll recall, you don't have underwear on. Anyway, maybe you can sit on the toilet and do it that way. Or, if needed, I can hold your penis for you, and aim it toward the bowl. I also have a glass collection bottle that we can use from the hospital, designed especially for men, and for that you can even stay in bed. For the collection bottle I would just briefly hold it to put it in the opening."
We were now at the toilet, and I tried to use my thoroughly bandaged hands to lower my pajamas. It halfway worked on one side, but not on the other, and I winced with the pain.
"Okay, let me do that, John," She said, and knelt down, and then slowly lowered my pajamas.
Suddenly my manhood was revealed to my Mom for the first time since I was little. Because I needed to pee, and hadn't been able to massage my penis since the accident four days earlier, it was to my shame more than halfway hard.
I'd already known from comparing with a friend shortly after I turned eighteen that my manhood was bigger than average. Not huge, but after I saw it was bigger than my friend's by quite a bit I'd measured it with a ruler when it was hard, and it stood up at seven inches when I was masturbating.
At this moment it was about five inches, and only drooping slightly.
My Mom seemed surprised, even though she tried to minimize it, and said, "Well, you've certainly grown since I was giving you baths as a little boy. I don't think sitting down will work, since because your penis is sticking out your urine would probably just spray out and make a mess. I'll just hold it for you, and aim it into the bowl."
"Thank you," I said, mortified.
Then my Mom took gently but firmly hold of my penis, and aimed it down toward the green porcelain toilet bowl with water.
Fortunately I started peeing in just a few seconds, because I'd already been holding it in for a while. As I peed I prayed my manhood wouldn't get harder, but by the end it was noticeably swelling in my Mom's hands as the last drops left it.
As she let it go, it didn't droop, but instead jerked up toward a full erection.
To my surprise my Mom just watched for several seconds as I got fully erect. Soon my hard and thick penis stood up at about a forty-five degree angle.
She said, "That's perfectly normal, John. Nothing to be embarrassed about. I've had several men get erect as I was bathing them, or helping them urinate."
She then pulled up my pajamas, which covered me, but my hard manhood was tenting out the soft cloth in an obvious way.
Suddenly we heard Piper cry, and Mom said, "She's up from her evening nap. I'll need to nurse her. Go ahead and get back in bed, and I'll start feeding you again soon. Maybe I can even feed both of you at the same time."
I got back in bed, and awkwardly tried to pull the covers up, but wasn't yet able. My now aroused manhood was moving a bit sometimes under my pajamas, as it pulsed with the need for release. I was already hoping that night to have a wet dream to get some relief. But then I realized my Mom would know it when she had to clean the sheets. Well, she'd understand, I thought. She'd had to do that before for me, since I had wet dreams pretty often, even though I masturbated regularly.
Then she entered the room, with her blouse undone and one side of her nursing bra open, with little Piper attached to her right breast. Ignoring my aroused penis that was visible in my pajamas, she resumed feeding me soup, while also nursing Piper.
She said, "See? I told you I could feed you both. The things a woman can do in this world when she has to. We're going to need to make a lot of adjustments, John, now that your father's gone. Things are going to be different. But your father, bless his soul..."
Tears were suddenly welling in her eyes, and at that moment Piper separated from her Mom's nipple to look at me.
I'd actually seen my Mom's nipples and breasts before several times as she was breastfeeding, but just in short glimpses. My Mom had told me what was obviously true, that breast feeding was a natural thing, and something that didn't need to be hidden in families. My Dad had accepted Sarah's view on this. Farmers, dealing with animals, milking cows, and so on, tended to be practical people.
