Going swimming in the creek is a lot of fun. We did this often at several locations where the creek is wide and where there are some deep holes. One location even had a tire on a rope to swing out and jump in. This was great fun for a hot summer day. The creek is better than a pond as the water is cleaner because it flows faster, no cows stand around in it, and it is spring fed.

One Saturday when I was thirteen and just about to turn fourteen, after all the farm work was done, my Dad took my brothers, sisters, and me to the best spot on the creek for a swim.

Dad did his best to do a lot with us. He and Mom were always attentive and good to us. As farmers, we had to do a lot. Lot's of work in the fields and with the stock. He did a great job keeping us in a good frame of mind and tried hard to not show favoritism between kids. He even adopted a boy and girl who were orphaned by some deceased neighbors. The new brother and sister had our name. The name helped in school, as in a small town of less than 2,500, people can be pretty narrow about different names.

While swimming, we all took turns swinging out on the tire and jumping into the cool water. Between turns on the tire, we would swim around the edges of the big hole to look for tad-poles, craw-dads and small fish. We tried to impress each other for our ability to swim under water with our eyes open.

I dove into one of the more shallow spots to find craw-dads. Being thirteen meant I didn't have a lot of common sense. When I dove in, my head struck a large rock. I was stunned. Dad saw it, grabbed me, and pulled me up so I wouldn't be breathing water. I was woozy. Dizzy to the point I had to sit in the water to figure out what was going on. For the rest of time we were there, I didn't swing on the tire any more. Mostly, I sat on the bank watching in a haze of disorientation feeling like I was going to be sick to my stomach.

That evening I had trouble doing my chores. I finally had to tell Dad I was getting sick to my stomach just walking around. He took me inside and told Mom what was going on and what had happened. She was fixing supper and kept me awake by talking to me and shaking me when I drifted off. Supper came and went and I didn't feel nauseous any longer so Dad said I could go to bed.

I awoke the next morning to Dad shaking me. He was saying it was after nine. That was four hours later than I normally woke up. Dad said he was going to take me to the doctor's to have me checked out. The other kids were off to school so Dad and Mom loaded me into the station wagon and drove me to town. The doctor checked me out, looking into my eyes mostly, and checking the bump on my forehead. He pronounced me as having had a severe concussion. He said I would have to have four to six weeks of bed rest. Absolutely no farm work on machinery, no climbing stairs, and definitely no swimming. My room was up stairs in our house so that meant I had to sleep some where else.

When we got home, Dad took one of the bunk beds in my brother's room and brought it downstairs to the living room. He moved furniture around so the bed was near the couch and the other chairs. I was next to the piano that provided the family a lot of entertainment. It was a foot pump roll type piano that played by itself. I was the only one in the family that took piano lessons and the only one who played the piano for fun.

Anyway, I spent every day and every night laying on the bed in the living room. Someone would help me sit up, get to the table then get back to bed. I was usually out of it. Seems as if all I did was sleep. Very hazy about what was going on with every one. It almost seemed as if I was getting worse.

My Mom was very attentive. She always made sure that I had something to eat if I missed a meal because I was asleep. She would help me into the bathroom where I sat even to pee. I was too unsteady on my feet to stand up.

After a couple of weeks, I started to get a little more focused on what was going on around me. I still slept all the time but I would often wake up but not open my eyes. I would lay there and listen to what others were saying trying to make my mind focus to understand the conversation.

One morning after everyone had left the house except for my Mom and myself, I became aware she was in the living room and was carrying something with her. She started talking to me as if I were awake.

"Honey, I have to give you a bath okay?" She started. "I need to wash you all over and I should wash your hair, but it's so short you can probably get by with just the wash cloth."

She started on my face and did a thorough job. She washed my hair and put a towel under my head when she finished. She next unbuttoned my pajama shirt and pulled it off. I kept my eyes closed. She seemed pretty used to moving me around. She washed my chest and arms before she unbuttoned my pants. She was able to pull them off by sliding the waist under my butt and off the feet. She was amazingly gentle. With every movement she made, she would say something. Sometimes describing what she was doing or what she was going to do.

I was a little uncomfortable and embarrassed for her to see me as I lay there naked. If I showed that I was awake then she would know I had been playing possum, so I remained still and kept my eyes closed.

She first rolled me onto my side to wash my back and butt. As she washed down the crack, my dick began getting bigger. The whole time she was saying stuff like, "Have to get you nice and clean."

This was bad as I had a very long and large cock for my age. Compared to the other guys at school that I saw in the shower, I was a minimum of twice their length and at least twice as fat. I had measured it to be right at eight inches long. It's grown some in length since then but now a whole lot fatter.

Anyway she was very thorough and washed my entire butt very well. She placed a towel under my butt and rolled me onto my back. My dick was now standing straight up. Mom said, "Oh my, look what has come up again. We'll just have to wash that real good."

She began washing my dick and balls with a wet wash cloth. After I was very wet, I heard her soap up her hands. She caressed my balls then my dick with her soapy hands. I was extremely hard from her gentle handling. About the time I thought she would be done, she wrapped her hands around my dick and began sliding them down to the base, stretching my foreskin taught then sliding her hands back up till the skin just about covered the head. She kept this up and down motion going at a fairly slow tempo, talking constantly. "Does this feel good? This will help you feel better. My, my you are so large. Every time I wash you, I can't believe the size. I know you'll make a big mess but I have the washcloth right here. Hmmm, you're almost there."

I was thirteen, an always horny thirteen year old male. Before my unfortunate dive, I usually jacked off at least once a day and often two or three times. When I did it for myself it didn't take but a minute to bring myself off. With someone else manipulating me it was going to take even less time.

My dick became granite, my balls drew up, my stomach tightened, and I felt the juice flow up my dick to squirt. I must have squirted eight to ten times and I could feel that it was a lot. Mom was saying, "Oh son, you make so much of that stuff. You can really squirt."

She began washing up the mess and rinsing off all the soap. The contact kept my dick rigid. My mind was in melt down for having something like that feel so good. When she was done washing and rinsing, she used a towel to dry me off. I could feel the pre-cum form on my dick head. She would rub her palm across it making it slick and feel great.