Uncle Dan
My deadbeat father abandoned my mother when I was two years old, leaving her with a pile of bills, a ten-year old car with 170,000 miles on it, and a daughter that he never wanted. My mother was already working as a server in a restaurant, but took a second job working in a bar to try and cover the rent of a crappy little one-bedroom apartment and raise her daughter alone. After six months, we were evicted and she ended up moving back to the small farmhouse where she grew up with her older brother Dan and younger sister, Meryl.
Uncle Dan was a confirmed, lifelong bachelor who did construction and general contracting work while living out of a camper that he towed around with his work truck to go from job to job. He was three years older than my mother and a huge bear of a man. He was 6'5" tall with a deep, low voice and a bellowing laugh. I used to think he was a giant when I was little. Underneath his rough exterior was a man with a heart of gold who cared about everyone, especially his younger sisters. As I grew older, I envied his nomadic lifestyle.
Aunt Meryl was married, but didn't have any children. From what I heard when no one knew I was listening, she married her husband for his money and a ticket out of the small-town life she grew up in and hated. We never saw her very much, but when we did, she was always so well-dressed and manicured, that I thought she was a movie star or something. When I was old enough to notice, I saw that her well-coiffed exterior was just a poor cover for the snobbish, icy person underneath.
My mother was a tall, quiet, tired-looking woman who worked her ass off to give everything to her only child. Her own childhood wasn't easy, but she learned the value of hard work at an early age and never felt comfortable just sitting around. Despite a diet consisting primarily of fried food and cheap carbohydrates from the restaurants and bars where she worked, she remained wiry and strong. When I saw pictures of her in her younger days, I couldn't help but admire how beautiful she was. In middle age, she was still attractive and had a nice figure, but her eyes and face made her look years older. She was kind and generous to a fault, even though she had almost nothing to her name. I seldom heard her complain about anything or disparage anyone, not even my absent father. My mother carried herself with an elegant grace that made me think of how a princess would move about. When I got older, I would describe her as "classy". She was my idol.
When my grandparents died, the old family home passed to their three children, none of whom wanted to be saddled with fixing it up. It was a small, simple wood frame house that had been slowly falling apart. It had three bedrooms and one bath, limited electrical distribution and no central air-conditioning or heating. Heat in the winter was provided by the large fireplace in the living room and a pot-bellied stove that was moved from the kitchen to my grandparents bedroom at some point in the distant past.
The structure was generally sound, but still needed some serious repairs, including replacing the sagging roof and repairing or replacing most of the wood plank floors. After our eviction from the apartment, my mother had nowhere else to go and Uncle Dan suggested moving into their old home. He had been trying to fix things up when he had time and had just finished reinforcing the roof and replacing the shingles to keep the rain and weather out. Mom and I moved in with her meager possessions and she started sprucing the place up as best she could while working days at a small department store and nights at a local bar and grill.
Over the next year, Uncle Dan brought his small team of framers to tear down the interior walls and redesign the house to provide more usable and comfortable rooms. He did all the finish trim work and I marveled at the intricate woodwork he created. He combined spaces to go from three bedrooms to two, and he added a half-bath in addition to replacing the electrical panel and putting in a lot more electrical outlets and ceiling lights throughout the house. Mom showed me pictures of what the place looked like in those early days, including several of me as a three and four-year old girl wearing my uncle's hard hat and carrying around a small hammer or some other tool as I "helped" the grown-ups.
After getting the house into a more livable condition for Mom and me, Uncle Dan went back on the road to work and showed up sporadically to fix anything that was broken or to resume the long-term rehab of their parents home. Without a mortgage or rent to pay and almost non-existent utility bills, Mom was able to scrape by at a level somewhere between abject poverty and almost comfortable. I thought it was the best life ever.
Growing up, I had few friends in school. This was due, in part, because I was rough around the edges and viewed as "white trash" by the kids who lived in more modern, suburbia with pretty houses, nicely landscaped and manicured lawns, white picket fences, and all the electronics that their parents could buy. Our home didn't even have a TV because cable service didn't extend out to our part of the county and over-the-air broadcasts contained few programs of interest. I spent most of my time outside and went to school dressed in clothes more suitable for working in a warehouse or farm. I never thought about using make-up except for a brief Gothic phase I went through, and even then, my make-up was sparse and stark.
I was never very socially out-going, but did develop a few close friendships with other girls who were similarly ostracized in school. Most of my life, I grew up with only my mother around and intermittent visits by Uncle Dan, when his work allowed or a crisis at home called. I had few social skills and somehow ended up with more of Uncle Dan's gruff attitude than my mother's more engaging demeanor.
In middle school, I "bloomed" early, which captured the immediate attention of several pimple-faced boys trying to cope with their own raging hormones. For the first time, boys started paying attention to me, but I quickly found out that they were more interested in whether I would "put out" or not. Since I steadfastly refused their physical advances, my extracurricular social life quickly tapered out, reinforcing my earlier solitude except for my few girlfriends.
Starting high school, I was a tall, spindly girl with long dark hair that was usually in a ponytail. I dressed more like a tomboy than a girl and hung out with three or four other outcast girls. They, like me, were viewed as coming from the wrong side of the tracks. By the time I was a sophomore, I had filled out some missing curves and sported a pair of very firm and perky 36C boobs that looked even bigger on my thin frame. To the irritation of some, my tits were the envy of most of the girls in my gym class who saw me changing or in the shower. Out of spite or her own inadequacy, one of my detractors even accused me of having a boob job. I was so naive, I had no idea what she was talking about, but took offense anyway and was ready to punch her out before a friend stopped me.
When I was eighteen, I came home from school one day to find Mom's car and Dan's truck and camper in the side yard. We hadn't seen Dan in several months, so I ran over to the camper and knocked on the door. When no one answered, I opened it and looked inside to find that nobody was there. I went into the house wondering why Mom wasn't at work and found Uncle Dan laying in her bed in obvious pain while Mom flitted around to get him comfortable.
As it turned out, he fell and broke his back on a job site. The break wasn't severe, but it put painful pressure on his spine. He was wearing a hard plastic shell around his torso to stabilize his back and keep him from moving while the inflammation slowly subsided and the cracked vertebrae healed. He wasn't supposed to get up or move around for three months, so he came to stay with us until he recovered.
Mom put him in her bed and said she would sleep on the couch. Whenever Dan visited us, he would usually stay in his camper, but more and more often, opted for our couch because it was more comfortable than the thin, narrow mattress in his trailer. Dan wanted to argue, but given the size of the house, there weren't many options. I told Mom she could use my bed and I'd sleep on the couch, but she wouldn't hear of it, so the matter was unilaterally settled by her.
School was almost over when he arrived for his recuperative stay and I tried to spend as much time at home as I could to look after my uncle so that Mom didn't have to miss work. There was a small ray of light from my uncle's extended visit. He essentially paid rent to Mom to offset any loss of pay from her having to reduce her work hours to take care of him. Once the new schedule settled out, she was home about four hours more each day. When school finally did end, I was pretty much his full-time caretaker, but didn't mind a bit. It gave Mom more time to actually rest at home herself and Uncle Dan's care didn't really take that much time. By then, he had settled into a routine that consisted mostly of reading books, doing crossword puzzles, and running his business from his cell phone. A couple times I surprised him, when I showed up at his doorway and he would hurriedly shut down whatever he was doing on his phone.
One day I heard slight sounds coming from his room and crept up to listen more carefully. After a half-minute, I surmised that he was watching porn videos on his smartphone and bit my tongue to keep from laughing. I never would have imagined my uncle watching porn and wondered what he did to "relieve" himself after getting aroused. I didn't let him see me and kept his porn activities to myself. After those incidents, I made sure to make enough noise coming down the hallway that he would have plenty of notice before I knocked on the door and came inside.
One of the duties Mom and I had was changing out Dan's bedpan. Pretty gross stuff, from my perspective, but it had to be done. The first time I lifted the sheet to take out the pan, I saw his thick, flaccid dick hanging down and my eyes went wide. I had never seen a man's penis before, either in pictures or live, but heard plenty of girls talking about them. Uncle Dan's face grew flush from my reaction to seeing his cock, but he didn't say anything. I think he was trying not to draw more attention to our mutual discomfort than there already was.
Now, I did know about how babies were conceived; Mom gave me that talk when puberty started. I knew all the clinical stuff and girl-talk added more color to the various ways to have sex, especially oral. Staring at my uncle's soft little dick, I didn't think it was long enough to rdo much and wondered how big it would have to grow to impregnate a woman. I finally broke out of the sideshow going on in my head to get back to work on removing and cleaning the bedpan. When I returned, I gingerly lifted up his limp penis by the foreskin to lower it into the opening of the clean pan. I failed to see the grimace on my uncle's face from the way I pitched and held a fairly sensitive part of his anatomy.
After that initial experience, I quickly became accustomed to viewing and handling his private parts, and was able to act more or less normal in the process. One time, as I was hoisting up his dick to arrange the bedpan, I felt it twitch and move in my fingers and almost yelled out loud in surprise as I let go of it. My uncle barely stifled a chuckle at my reaction, but he also turned red from his own involuntary response to his niece's hand.
"Sorry about that. Sometimes, it has a mind of its own, but don't worry, it won't bite," he joked, trying to defuse the situation with levity. I just looked at him for a few moments in disbelief before turning back to cover his privates with the bed sheet and then leaving the room.
Almost a week into his visit, I stopped in a little early in the morning to take care of him while Mom was in the shower, getting ready for her first job. I pulled the sheet back and stared down at my first real, no-shit, hard-on. He was huge and my earlier question about how much would it grow to be able to impregnate a woman was fully answered. Uncle Dan was half-asleep when I came in, but immediately woke up when he felt the sheet being removed. "Shit!" he cried out as he tried to pull the sheet back over himself. "Can you come back later?" he asked with embarrassment.
By then, I was comfortable enough with seeing his privates that I just laughed and said, "Okay." However, after that incident, I would intentionally stop by to take care of him a little early in the morning just so I could catch another glimpse of his rather impressive hard-on. The first couple of times, he seemed embarrassed, but I think he caught on to what I was doing and after that, he didn't ask me to leave.
In addition to dumping and cleaning his bedpan, I also gave him sponge baths, helped him change the t-shirt he wore as his only clothing, and even wiped his ass when that was needed. It was during one of his sponge baths that I inadvertently got him aroused with my hand. I was using a warm, wet washcloth to clean his crotch area and as soon as I saw him growing, I stopped and withdrew.
"Don't stop now," he spoke up. "It was just starting to feel good." I saw him grinning at me.
