Note: This story was dynamically reformatted for online reading convenience.
 
 I Am A Helpful Husband

   Characters: Husband (me) Kapil, Wife Pooja, Mother Rani, Servant Devraj
--short Dev

   English is my second language; please pardon my errors.

   Chapter 1: Coming to America

   My name is Kapil.  I am 28 and I am from India.  It has been five years
that I migrated to USA.  I had been busy exploring the new world and
settling down.  I built a home in the southwest on a 10 acre property.  Now
that the initial excitement is over and I have settled down I found myself
lonely with nothing at hand to do.  Because of the estates I inherited from
my father I don't have to work so you can imagine I have abundant free time
at hand.  I started to think more and more of my life back home in India.

   The village I used to live in was like stuck 100 years back in the past.
We have vast lands and farms with scores of servants working under our
family for generations.  Our immediate family lives in a fortress-like
home. The home has extensions which houses my extended family like uncles,
aunts, grandparents and cousins etc.  This complex is then surrounded by an
irregular circle of all sorts of living quarters for dozens of farmers and
servants whose livelihood depends on us.

   Our family was very traditional with one exception -- my mother had the
final say in everything.  She was very loving to everyone, very caring. 
Once one of our farmer's wife died; he was devastated beyond description --
that is what mother said.  Then mother let him sleep with her in her bed
for more than a month.  My father had to spend all those nights right on
the edge of the bed; he even fell a couple of times.  Mother said we always
should help the poor.  Then my mom let the farmer go when he was fully
relieved of his grief.

   I started thinking about starting my own family.  " I think I should
marry someone from my own village.  Someone very gentle, caring and giving,
innocent, untarnished." I immediately phoned my mother; within a week she
had the right girl for me.  Her name was Pooja.  We married in a rush using
telephone and courier to exchange documents and I sponsored her to come to
America to live with me; my mother came along to help me in my new life.  I
had two surprises at the airport.  One -- I saw one of our villagers,
Devraj, carrying luggage following my new wife and mother.  He was one of
the older family servants but mostly used to work on farms.  He was getting
old -- in his 50's but looking a few years older.  Tall, dark-skinned but
skinny, somewhat malnourished.  He used to walk with giant leaps with his
long legs.  The other surprise --- my mother was carrying five year old
girl.  She was walking ahead of Pooja and Dev in the airport arrival
terminal, her left breast hanging out while the girl was suckling on it. 
The girl was irritable probably because of the long journey; mother was
holding her left breast close to the nipple with her right hand slightly
squeezing the nipple between her index and middle finger and fruitlessly
trying to place the nipple in the her mouth.  The girl was shaking head
back and forth causing the nipple to squirt drops of milk all around.  My
mind raced to my past.  I have suckled on these nipples countless times,
not only when I was a baby but also more recently.  Mum says maternal milk
is better than any other tonic in the world.  When I used to come back from
a game or after a long business trip, I would always find my mother
standing in the front courtyard with her boobs hanging down with the weight
of the milk ready for me to suck on.  Sometimes me and my father would
suckle on each breast after combined business trip.  Mother had to keep up
her milk production as we were eight brothers and sisters plus my father;
on top of that mum would help poor servants once in a while after they were
very exhausted working in hot weather.  She would let them suck on her
nipples for a few minutes while she was supervising their work.  Sometime
she would ask one of the farmers rub her in between her legs; mum says it
makes her produce more milk.

   My thoughts were interrupted by my mum's familiar voice.  I wanted to
hug my new wife standing close by but she was shy being in public.  I
grabbed some of the luggage, stuffed everything in a taxi and got everyone
home.  In the taxi my mum introduced the girl to me as my sister born soon
after my departure for US five years ago.  I always have thought very
highly of my mother but the arrival of this new girl made me immensely
proud to have a very fertile mother who never gets tired.