The Son Also Rises

I underwent surgery to reconstruct my penis despite the fact that the prognosis was hopeless. In the end, Dr. Ludlum cobbled together the remaining tissue around a ten inch plastic tube. It was her hope that the remaining tissue would heal. Still, she was careful not to inflate my hopes. There was a distinct possibility that I would have to live life without ever having another erection. Dr. Ludlum pointed out that ten inches was the optimum length to increase the chances of proper insemination. She said the sperm count should return to normal, but that would take considerable time.

During this time, my father stayed as far away from the house. He found every reason not to be home and talk to his own son. Of course, this made Greta furious. I would hear them arguing on the phone.

"He is your own son," said my stepmom, "It would not kill you to at least talk to him."

My father never did talk to me. He would send me text messages with what he wanted me to do, but that was the extent of my dealings with my dad. As my respect for my father dwindled, my respect for my stepmom rose. She barely knew me and she was actually on my side. From that day forward, I took my deflated ego and swore to make my stepmom happy.

Regrettably, I was not much use to anyone. I had casts on both arms and required help going to the bathroom. Despite the fact that my father did not want anyone else living in the house, my father consented to having Greta's mother live with us. The other solution was to have an in-home nurse. Of course, my father did not want to pay for an in-home nurse.

At this point in time, I was great pain and my usual reluctance to accept help was set aside. Greta brought her mother into my room. Since I could not dress myself, I was pretty much confined to my bedroom in a bathrobe. One morning, Greta introduced me to her mother.

"Mike," said my stepmother, "This is my mother, Betty."

I took one look at Betty and wondered if this was actually her sister. They looked so similar that I wondered if the pain medication was making me hallucinate. Betty was as beautiful as her daughter. She was also well-endowed. Whereas Greta had long blonde hair, Betty had long, black hair. Both women had the same lovely blue eyes and that mischievous smile.

Without asking, Betty came forward. Her breasts were much larger than that of her daughter and she made certain I took notice of them. Betty wore a simple sundress, but the front was strategically unbuttoned to reveal more of her cleavage. I also noticed that her nipples were pushing against the thin fabric of her dress. As she mesmerized me, Betty shook my hand.

"Glad to meet you, Mike," said Betty.

Betty giggled like a schoolgirl when I stammered for something to say. I glanced over at Greta and noticed that Greta did not approve of her mother's behavior.

"Mom, are you flirting again?" asked Greta.

Betty shrugged her shoulders. She frowned at her daughter.

"Your son is staring at my boobs," said Betty, "What am I supposed to do?"

I blushed. Greta glared at me. I was caught red-handed. Whereas Greta was fuming, Betty was starting to like the extra attention.

"Can I see it?" asked Betty.

"Mother," said Greta, "He is still doped up."

"This is the best time," said Betty, "He won't remember we were even here."

Without asking, Betty lifted up my bathrobe. I tried to crawl up the bed and away from her, but I was too weak to run away. I knew she was going to laugh at my Frankenstein penis, but I was wrong. Her jaw dropped and her eyes grew big.

"Holy crap," Betty said, "Was it always that big?"

Once more, I was blushing. There was nothing worse than having two beautiful women examining your penis.

"No," said Greta.

"Was it always that thick?" Betty asked.

"No," said Greta.

"I don't understand," said Betty.

"The doctor wanted more length," said Greta.

"Why?" asked Betty, "It looks like a freaking baseball bat."

"Even if he can't have an erection," said Greta, "He can still get someone pregnant."

Betty nodded her head. She seemed to agree with the doctor's prognosis.

"Can he have an erection?" asked Betty.

"No one knows," said Greta.

"How long before it heals completely?" Betty asked.

"We will see," said Greta, "It has only been a few weeks since the surgery."

"I see," said Betty.

Unceremoniously, Betty grabbed my rear end and rolled me over. There was a look of horror on her face. She pointed to the lines of scarred tissue across my back and below my waist.

"What are those?" asked Betty.

"I don't know," said Greta, "I have never seen those before."

"Who did this to you?" asked Betty, "Did your father do this to you?"

I sighed. I was hoping no one would ever see those scars. My father used his belt to whip me into submission. Each time I disobeyed his orders, I was treated to a few more stripes across my rear end. At times, my father would miss and I would get a few stripes across my lower back. The scars started to appear when the previous whip marks failed to heal completely.

The worst beating came when I tried to run away. I didn't get very far because my father's employees saw me leaving. I was brought back and promptly whipped while his employees watched. I wondered if my father purposely whipped me in front of his employees as a warning to anyone who wanted to disobey his direct orders. Whatever the reason, these scars were now on display for Greta and Betty to see.

"Oh crap," said Betty, "This boy is covered with marks."

"I sure hope my husband was not the one to do all of this," said Greta.

"Let us ask him," said Betty.

"Did your father do all of this?" asked Greta.

With resignation, I nodded. There was no use hiding the truth from them. My father was the only family I had.

"You have to be careful what you say to your husband," said Betty, "Your husband could be one sadistic son-of-a-bitch."

"Now I am getting worried," said Greta, "I had no idea he was like this."

Afterwards, Betty rolled me back so that my scars would be hidden from view. Promptly, Greta pulled down my bathrobe and covered up my manhood. I breathed a sigh of relief.

"Mom," said Greta, "I have you in the next room."

That was the arrangement. Betty was in the room next to mine. Whenever I had to go to the bathroom, I was to call for Betty.

Since I was still taking painkillers, I forgot to call Betty the first time I had to go to the bathroom. I tried to aim my penis with two broken arms. Eventually, Betty found me trying to use the bathroom without help. As luck would have it, I accidentally tinkled on her shoes. Needless to say, Betty started cursing me and walked out of the bathroom.

Ashamed, I wanted to cry. I just stood there helpless. I had the feeling it was going to be a long recovery process.

To my surprise, Betty came back. This time she had no shoes. Without asking for my permission, Betty pushed back the sides of my bathrobe and exposed my mangled penis.

Betty hesitated for a moment. I knew exactly why she hesitated. Somehow, her job description did not include holding onto a stranger's penis. With one hand, Betty aimed my member and I urinated into the toilet.

To my surprise, Betty examined my penis very carefully. I was embarrassed about my penis, but Betty seemed to take great interest in my member like a scientist.

"Does it hurt?" asked Betty.

"Not right now," I said.

"Can you feel anything?" asked Betty.

At that, Betty looked at me while she playfully squeezed the shaft. I nodded.

"Does that hurt when I squeeze it?" asked Betty.

I shook my head. I was not sure where the conversation was heading.

"Interesting," said Betty mischievously.

At that, Betty gave me a quick squeeze on the shaft and left the bathroom. I was not sure whether or not she was still mad at me, but I decided not to ask.

The next day, my stepmother had to go see her lawyer. The marriage was dissolving right in front of everyone's eyes. Every day, my stepmother was yelling and screaming on the phone at my father. I knew Greta wanted her husband home, but there was no concession on my father's part. I knew how stubborn my father could be. He didn't like to be told what to do or that he was wrong.

When I awoke that morning, my stepmother came into my room with Betty. She greeted me with her usual smile, but there were bags under her eyes. I sat up in bed and waited for them to talk.

"Usually I would get your prescriptions," Greta said, "But I have to see the lawyer today."

My stepmother looked at me closely. She took a look at my colorless face with one raised eyebrow.

"I guess you need your pain medications today," said Greta.

Weakly, I nodded my head. Greta turned to Betty and gave her instructions on getting to the pharmacy. In less than a half hour, Betty had hustled me in and out of the shower. Afterwards, Betty stuffed me in the back of the family sedan in jeans and a t-shirt. To no one's surprise, I was happy to wear something besides a bathrobe. Still, I had not underwear. Needless to say, there was no underwear designed to cover ten permanent inches of manhood, so I was given a loose pair of blue jeans.

As it turned out, the family sedan was an old Lincoln Continental. Usually, I was not allowed to ride in the family sedan. The Lincoln Continental was strictly reserved for guests. To say the least, my father did not believe in giving his children their own vehicles. As a result, I learned to drive in a company truck. Today, I was in a lot of pain, so the smooth ride in the Lincoln Continental made the drive tolerable.

Soon, Betty and I were off to the pharmacy. I had never been to this particular pharmacy, but Betty had no problem finding her way there. Looking out the window, I quickly noticed that this neighborhood had no gated communities. Beggars wandered over broken pavement like zombies. Many windows were boarded up and it was hard to tell which buildings were actually occupied. Widespread graffiti could not hide the broken masonry on the walls. All of the old newspapers being blown around could not hide the broken asphalt on the streets.

Today, Betty did not wear any jewelry for a reason. In fact, Betty wore a frumpy old dress that she probably found on sale at the dollar store. At first, I thought Betty would be scared. To my surprise, Betty seemed very comfortable walking through this neighborhood.

Betty stopped the Lincoln Continental in front of a battered brick and stone building. From the decorative stonework, I guessed that the building was originally built during the Great Depression. The windows were covered with cigarette and alcohol advertisements. In the distance, I heard the clicking of a train rolling down a track. There was a giant concrete overpass that cast its shadow over the crumbling sidewalk. Despite my fear, I was ushered out of the sedan and into the pharmacy.

Betty and I waited in line for a few minutes when two men showed up. Without warning, the barrel-chested men confronted Betty. From the look on Betty's face, these men were not there to ask for the time.

"You are coming with us," said the first man to Betty.

"The boss wants to see you," said the second man.

A look of fear came over Betty's face and I knew we were in serious trouble. Without thinking, I put my body between the men and Betty. Since I was still in pain, I was starting to get annoyed at the men's lack of respect for my driver. I needed my pain pills and these two clowns were keeping me from getting them.

"Who are you?" asked the first man.

"Beat it, kid," said the second man.

"I don't think so," I said snarled.

To their surprise, I straightened myself up and looked down at the two men. Of course, the two men saw my two broken arms in casts and started laughing.

"What the hell do you think you are going to do?" asked the first man.

"Look at this kid," said the second man, "He has a cast on each arm."

"Can you even write with those hands?" asked the first man.

They started laughing. The first man pulled out his revolver and started waving it in front of my face. I stared at the gun for moment and shrugged. I told myself that there was probably a security camera somewhere and the police were probably on their way. In fact, the people waiting in line scattered like pigeons seeing a cat. The pharmacist behind the counter shut the pass-through door and flipped the sign to indicate that the pharmacy was closed for the rest of the day.

"Why are you not afraid?" asked the first man, "Are you stupid or something?"

My body shook. I needed the pain medication soon or the pain was going to get progressively worse. Betty stood behind me and trembled with fear. I had the feeling that these two men were there to abduct her.

"She is not going anywhere," I declared.

"Who are you?" asked the second man, "Who do you think you are?"

"He is a dead man," said the first man.

"This is my fiancé," I said.

The two men laughed.

"Did you know that she is a hooker?" asked the first man, "The boss wants her back and you're going to turn around and leave."

"He looks like a rich kid," said the second man.

"What is he going to do? Is he going to write us some checks?" asked the first man.

They laughed hysterically. The second man went to the counter and picked up two ball-point pens. He placed a pen in each one of my hands.

"Go ahead, rich kid," said the first man mockingly, "Write us some checks."

"Your daddy can't save you once we put a bullet through your chest," said the second man.

The two men continued to laugh. Enough was enough. I was fed up with people laughing at me. With great anger, I thrust both ballpoint pens forward. The tips of each pen sank into their throats. Blood started to trickle out. Betty screamed. The revolver dropped to the floor. I backed off. The ballpoint pens were still stuck in their throats as they gasped for air. They looked at me in horror as they tried to pull the pens out of their neck.

I pushed the men aside and pounded on the pharmacy counter. Betty was still trembling, but she was able to coax the pharmacist to re-open.

"Please help us," said Betty, "My grandson needs his medications."

"No," said the pharmacist from behind the door, "We don't want anyone getting hurt."

"They won't be a problem anymore," I declared, "But you probably need to call an ambulance."

With great caution, the pharmacist opened the door and looked at the two men. Both men were writhing in pain on the floor. There were pools of blood in front of each man.

Thrusting the doctor's note forward, Betty took the opportunity to present the pharmacist with my prescription. The pharmacist peered at the note for a few seconds, memorized the name, and left us waiting. After a few minutes, the pharmacist returned and handed Betty a bag with his quivering hands. We could hear the sound of pills inside the bag. My name was printed in bold letters on the outside of the bag.

Without delay, Betty tried to give the pharmacist some money, but the pharmacist insisted on accepting nothing for the pills. After Betty took the pills, the pharmacist promptly pushed us out of the store. We left before the police arrived and neither one of us spoke a word all the way home.

That night, Betty and I sat across the table from Greta. My stepmother had seen the news and instantly recognized her mother on the security footage. Of course, the guy with the two casts was me. Needless to say, my stepmother was not happy with the results of the confrontation. Greta was already unhappy about the trip to the divorce lawyer, but she was furious when she saw the news footage on television.

At the table, Betty stared down at her salad and picked at the lettuce without saying a word. I tried to drink my stepmother's protein shake without puking. The green protein shake was a mixture of kale, carrots, and seeds. In all honesty, it smelled like fungus and tasted like re-fried beans. My body wanted meat, but no one made any attempt to give me anything else.

"Mom," said Greta, "You were supposed to keep a low profile."

"How was I supposed to know that they were following me?" asked Betty.

"What possessed you to take on two criminals?" asked Greta to me, "You can't even go to the bathroom by yourself."

"No one is hurting your mother while I am around," I said firmly.

"Do you have a death wish or something?" asked Greta.

"I was in pain," I said, "I needed my medications and those two idiots decided to get in the way."

"You were going to get yourself in a world of pain," said Greta.

"I was already in pain," I muttered to myself.

Of course, I didn't look at my stepmother directly in the eyes. I knew she was furious. When she finished her dinner, Greta stood up and walked to the kitchen. Instinctively, I watched her walk away in her tight athletic pants and sports bra. The bright colors seemed to light up the room and draw attention to her slim figure. I watched as her gorgeous posterior muscles tightened with each step she took. Unfortunately, Betty noticed that I was watching her daughter. I felt a warm hand on my knee.

"Are you in love with my daughter?" asked Betty

With eyes as wide as saucers, I turned to Betty. I knew that I had been caught. There was a mischievous smile on her face. I wanted to deny that I was watching at Greta's gorgeous body, but nothing came out of my mouth. Betty giggled.

"You are one naughty boy," said Betty with a giggle, "Shame on you."

"I didn't do anything," I said innocently.

"You were checking out her ass," said Betty.

"It was an accident," I said.

"She is supposed to be your mother," said Betty, "Shame on you."

"Is it a crime to love your mother?" I asked.

"I thought I was supposed to be your fiancé," said Betty teasingly.

"My mom would kill me if she found out that I said that," I said in a whisper.

"So why did you say that I was your fiancé?" asked Betty.

"Please don't be angry that I said that," I said.

"So was that a slip of the tongue?" asked Betty.

I looked down at my green shake and sighed. I had no idea why I called Betty my fiancée. Maybe my mind revealed my true intentions. I knew I was blushing as Betty looked at me suspiciously. Finally, Betty smiled. She knew that I had unintentionally spilled the beans.

"Are you mad at me?" I asked.

"Did you know that I am still married?" asked Betty playfully.

"So what were those men talking about?" I asked, "Did they work for your husband?"

"I haven't seen my husband in twenty years," said Betty, "Besides that is none of your business."

"If I am going to jail for you," I said teasingly, "I would like to know why."

"No one is going to jail," said Betty.

"So why were those guys looking for you?" I asked.

"I am not telling you anything," repeated Betty.

"Why won't you tell me?" I asked.

"You are just a pervert," said Betty, "You need to be slapped for looking at my daughter like that."

"I happen to like girls older than myself," I said teasingly.

Betty glared at me.

"That is my daughter," said Betty indignantly, "And she is your mother."

"Okay, okay," I said, holding my hands up in mock surrender.

"Besides I think you are older than my daughter," said Betty.

"Are you sure?" I asked.

"I am sure," said Betty.

Finally, I stopped arguing with Betty. I cast my gaze to the floor and apologized.

"I am really sorry," I said.

"You better be sorry," said Betty.

By this time, my stepmother had returned. Betty arose from the table.

"I am not very hungry tonight," said Betty, "I am going to go to bed now."

As Betty stood up from the table, Greta went over to her mother and gave her a hug.

"I just don't want anything bad to happen to you," said Greta, "I don't know what I would do if I lost you."