Benson Farm 1

Growing up in the foster care system was an adventure to say the least. A lot of kids enter at different ages, I was one of the unlucky ones, I was in the system pretty much all my life. As hard as it was, the worst part was the feeling of not being good enough. I would move to a home, and about the time I would meet friends and get half way adjusted, the system would move me somewhere else. Most kids that were put in the system as young as I was usually end up being adopted. Unfortunately, I was different, and no one wanted to accept the full responsibility of taking care of me.

I was doomed from conception. My mother was the daughter of a Southern Baptist minister. She had been a fine upstanding girl until she went to college. While in college, she became addicted to Cocaine which led to heroin and meth. She dropped out of school after her second semester because she was on the verge of being kicked out. Because of her addictions, her father disowned her, leaving her homeless.

Eventually, as so many other young female drug addicts, my mother took to the streets. She turned tricks to feed her demons. She met a guy, and they were married. Her husband would pimp her out, take her money and give her just enough drugs to keep her wanting more. Eventually she got pregnant. When she was far enough along that she began to show, her husband kicked her out.

Again, she was out on the streets and as soon as she found a John willing to be serviced by a pregnant junkie, she bought enough drugs to put her and me out of our misery. As a misfortune, to me anyway, she collapsed right outside of a hospital.

The medical staff kept her alive on life support until I was born, then my mother died. No one had a clue who my father was and when my grandfather was contacted, he came to the hospital but left shortly after pulling the plug on my mom. I was told that he did not want a bastard, drug addicted half breed to have to take care of, so I was placed into a foster home.

One of the nice nurses at the hospital named me Malo Albert after Saint Malo of Aleth, the patron saint of lost items. Due to my addiction to drugs, I had a lot of health problems when I was a baby. I was placed in a home with other babies in my condition.

As the years went by, I overcame the addictions but the drugs left me with an extreme case of ADHD, and when I was of age I was placed on medication to help calm me down. I was full of mischief and considered a problemed child.

Not knowing who my father was made things difficult. All I know is that he was a black man. I only know that because I am mixed, caucasion and African-American. As I grew up I became naturally toned and with my light skin and blue eyes, the girls all favored me from an early age.

The first foster home that I was in as I grew older was in a rural area. The older couple had a farm and they housed four kids around my age, two boys and two girls. Us kids would help them work on the farm. It was not slavery, because the man and woman would work as hard as we would everyday. The other boy’s name was Tommy and he had been on the farm for two years when I arrived. He was a white kid a year older than I was. His hair was brown and he kept it cut very short. Although he was older than me, he was shorter. His body was toned from the work on the farm.

Tommy and I bunked together in one room next to the back porch. Every morning we would be awakened at 4:30 am by Mr. Benson. We would go to the barn and milk the two cows and gather eggs from the hen house. One of us would take the milk and eggs inside the house to Mrs. Benson, while the other would get the tractor hooked up to the plow, mower or whatever implement we would be using that day. In the house, Mrs. Benson and the two girls would be eagerly preparing breakfast.

Until I arrived at Benson Farm, I had never really paid much attention to girls. As you would imagine, that quickly changed. The first girl I met when I arrived was Heather. I later found out that she was the same age as I was. She was about my height and chunky. Her eyes were green and her hair was sandy blonde. The one feature that stood out to me was her bottom. Even in her concervative dress, each time she walked the cheeks of her bottom would wiggle and I could not help but watch. She had been on the farm six months when I arrived.

The other girl’s name was Trudy. Trudy had been with the Benson’s since she was two and actually called them Ma and Pa, but she was a year younger than I was. She was a full head shorter than I was, with long black hair and brown eyes. She had a very pretty face and was thin and had two lovely looking grapefruits attached to her chest. The front of her dress was unbuttoned probably two buttons too many because the tops of those lovely grapefruit sized breasts protruded from their confines.

The first day I was at the farm, Mr. Benson, Tommy and I put up what felt like a hundred miles of fence. Mr. Benson would dig the post holes with the auger attached to the tractor, Tommy and I would set the posts in the holes. Then one of us would use a come-along to tighten the fence while the other nailed the nails into the post. At lunch, Mrs. Benson and the girls drove an old truck through the field and brought us lunch.

Mr. Benson saw them approaching and ordered Tommy and I to put our shirts back on. So we did as we were told. When the ladies arrived, the three of them got out of the truck with a small brown bag in their hands. Mrs. Benson took her bag to Mr. Benson, Trudy walked over to Tommy and gave him hers, and Heather brought me my lunch. She opened the bag and reached in and pulled out a sandwich and handed it to me. She smiled as I brought the sandwich to my mouth and took a bite. She watched as I ate and then reached in the bag and pulled out a mason jar of sweet tea to wash it down. After the sandwich she unwrapped a piece of cake and handed it to me.

“I baked it myself,” she said as I took a bite.

I smiled at her and ate the rest of it to show my approval. Then I washed it down with the last of the tea. She gathered the jar and placed it back in the bag. Then she returned to the truck. She and Trudy returned with two gallon jugs of water and refilled the water keg attached to the tractor. As they were pouring the water into the keg, a breeze began to blow. The hem of Heather’s dress blew up and I swore I caught a glimpse of her milky thighs. She quickly pushed her dress back down and she and Trudy returned to the truck and they were gone.

We worked the rest of the day and the sun was setting when Mr. Benson told us to pack up the tools. Tommy and I worked good together, and he had taught me along the way about the fence and what to expect from the Benson’s. According to Tommy, they expected us to work with them six days a week, and if we are productive, Sunday’s were special. He emphasized that it would be in my best interest to be productive because if I wasn’t, that he would personally whip my butt.

Once the tools were gathered, Tommy and I climbed onto the back of the tractor and Mr. Benson drove us back to the barn. When we arrived, Mr. Benson instructed us to disconnect the auger, to feed the animals then wash up for supper and he went into the house.