I made sure all of my sisters were gone--either to bed or out with friends--and then I went and knocked on the door to my mom's room to ask her something desperately important.
***
It was decades ago when I was eighteen and about to become a senior at the high school from which both of my parents graduated. Neither had left our small town after graduation. My grandparents lived there, too. So did my aunts, uncles, and cousins. In fact, the only family member to finally leave the place was Dad; he passed away during my sophomore year.
Word gets around in close-knit small towns--sometimes even rumors from decades past. During the summer before my senior year, word got to me from two separate people about my dad, and I didn't know what to think about it. The information lingered in my mind; it troubled me. Then, just an hour before I knocked on the door to my mom's bedroom, I discovered just how much damage the rumor about my father had done to me.
I had been at a friend's house, and he invited a small group of people from our grade to a pool party there. We swam, played games, and hung out--regular stuff. After midnight, a girl from my grade, Nomi, invited me--and only me--to return to the pool for a night swim.
We weren't ever close, Nomi and I, but she had good friends who were tight with my friends. I knew her. I liked her. She was a cute, Italian-looking beauty, and she had a great body. That night, we'd been spending almost all of our time together, laughing and chatting. I felt on my game. She looked beautiful. My gosh, that smile and those eyes--
Yeah, I decided to go swimming with Nomi.
The nerves hit me when I waded into the water, holding her hand. My dad. The rumor. What if?
I felt my body plunge into a kind of fight or flight mode. My heart thudded like a runaway train. My mouth dried up, and my breath grew shallow. I was light-headed, panicky.
What if?
I didn't want this expectation. Suddenly, the gossip wasn't just troubling; I dreaded it. What if Nomi heard the rumor? What if that was one of the reasons she was with me?
We slipped into the water, and she drew near, putting her arms around my neck. I took her by the waist, not even caring about the impossibly smooth flesh under my fingertips or the heavenly cleavage so close to my bare chest. We kissed, and I couldn't think about the softness of her lips. I was mentally frozen, moving because I could merely act the part. Inside, I was terrified of not being my dad.
When her hand rubbed my chest, I flinched. When it began a descent toward my navel, I knew the pounding of my heart would be palpable to her fingertips. I was not ready for this. I could not do this. Instantly, I broke off the kiss. Clearing my throat, I told her I needed to make a quick phone call that I had just remembered. "I'll be right back," I said.
She looked a bit confused, but she smiled and told me to hurry back.
I jogged into my friend's house. I grabbed my things and slipped out without alerting anyone. Inside my car, I pulled down my swim trunks and looked at it.
What if?
"Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!" I savagely roared. Slamming my fist into the dashboard two-three-four times and eyes red with rage, I hollered, "Fuck you, Dad! Fuck you! Fuck you! Go fuck yourself!"
Then I drove home.
There, I called my friend, the host, saying something had come up and my mom needed me. I asked him to let everyone know, especially Nomi, and to apologize for me.
Then, hating myself for cowardice and my father for this rumor, I searched the house to make sure my sisters were out or asleep.
I could not go on like this, wanting girls but being terrified of any potential intimacy with them.
I had to ask Mom--no matter how mortifying it might be.
***
"Yes?" she replied to the knock.
"It's me."
"What is it, Robby?"
"Can I come in?"
"Is it urgent? I'm in bed."
"It's important."
Through the door, I heard movement. Sheets and covers moved. A nightstand drawer opened and closed.
"Alright, honey. Come in."
When I opened the door, Mom was sitting up in her bed against two pillows. The lamp on her nightstand was on. A novel lay open beside her clock.
She smiled at me and patted the untouched side of the bed where Dad had always slept. I took off my shoes and lay beside her on top of the covers. Mom looked closer at my face. She must have seen the redness around my eyes. "Honey!" she gasped. "What is it? What's wrong?"
Mom was in a light blue, satin, spaghetti-strap nightgown. The bed covers were pulled up above her waist, but her heavy breasts distended the front of the gown, impossible not to notice. "Talk to me, Robby," she begged.
Where to begin a subject like this? I sighed, staring up at the ceiling. I opened my mouth, and then I closed it. I shut my eyes, and then I shook my head.
Mom spun toward me on her side. She reached out, rubbing my shoulder. "Robby, honey, I'm worried. What is the matter?"
"I don't even know how to start, Mom. This is--it's really hard to talk about."
"Are you hurt or in danger?"
"No."
"The police or--or drugs or alcohol?"
"No, Mom, nothing like that. It's more--more personal," I said, turning towards her.
She had piles of wavy brown hair that spread out over the pillows, spilled over her shoulders, and cascaded down her chest. Every so often, she'd run a finger delicately across her forehead to keep a stray lock from covering one of her eyes. Those eyes were dark brown, big and expressive, and very warm. People liked eye contact with my mom. I did. It made me feel special.
"Well, don't make me guess, Robby. You can tell me anything."
I closed my eyes and drew a deep breath through my nostrils. Something in the fragrance of the air gave me pause, only momentarily. I had to know, so I spoke. I told her about Nomi. Mom listened raptly; it helped seeing how much she wanted to understand. Then, I told her about the panic attack in the pool.
She smiled, caressing my head. "Oh, honey, don't trouble yourself over this. First times can be very nerve-wracking. This Nomi won't think anything of it, and next time--"
"I can't do next time, Mom. I can't."
"Why not?"
"I'm not nervous because it was my first time; I'm nervous about me, my body."
Mom's fingers continued petting my hair. She said, "There is nothing wrong with your body, baby."
"I don't know if that's true, Mom. People have said things to me."
"About your body?"
"No. About Dad."
Mom froze. She drew her hand back. Suddenly wary, she asked, "What about your father? I don't understand, Robby."
Just say the fucking words, I told myself. They spilled angrily from me. "That Dad had a big dick and--and what if I don't, Mom? What if I'm not like him? What if the girls know this rumor, too, and I disappoint them?"
I had no idea; I really didn't. This was before the age of the Internet. Ours was a straight-laced community; there were no adult bookstores. None of the shops in town sold dirty magazines where I might find a guy-girl layout to which I might compare myself. There were no books in the school or community libraries that held an answer. Our family encyclopedia didn't help. There was no one I felt comfortable enough asking about it--not even my closest friends--not until after my panic attack in the pool with Nomi.
Mom considered my words for a moment. Her eyebrows rose and drew together in sympathy. She said, "That's a terrible burden, and you shouldn't have to carry it. I'm so very sorry."
"Is it true?"
Shaking her head emphatically, she said, "It doesn't matter. Things like that are not important to women. What matters is who you are inside." Here, she put her hand on my shirt over my heart.
"But is it true?"
She rolled her eyes, shaking her head. With a sigh, she finally admitted, "Yes, he had a large penis, but I would have married him no matter how big or small it was. Don't you see? It doesn't matter."
"Mom, if a rumor like that can last two decades, and I, being his only son, am found to be different, what is going to stop people from spreading gossip about me? What is going to stop them from telling people that my dick is a disappointment?"
"You are your father's son. You will never be a disappointment."
"Mom," I replied, "you're not--that doesn't mean anything."
"Well, what is it you want me to do?"
"I cannot go on with these nerves, with the weight of these expectations. I have to know."
"And you don't know? Showering after practice or gym class with other boys or--or conversations among friends hasn't given you any answers?"
"Things aren't like that anymore, Mom. The showers--there's privacy. My friends and I don't talk about our dicks, much less compare them."
Mom opened her mouth, and then she closed it. She nodded solemnly. "I understand. And you would like me to look and give you an honest answer?"
"Yes," I answered. "Please."
Mom searched my eyes. Then, she said, "Go and lock the door."
I did, returning to Dad's spot on the bed and feeling my nerves ramp up.
Mom said, "Honey, before I do this, are you certain it will help? I will tell you the truth about what I find, but maybe what you need right now isn't your mother's opinion but good old-fashioned self-confidence."
"I'm certain."
"And you'll accept what I decide? If I tell you it's normal--or smaller--you'll move on with your life, doing your best to be a confident young man? Or if I tell you it's big, you won't mistrust me and keep doubting yourself? You'll believe me, whatever the result?"
I nodded.
"Alright, honey. Then close your eyes and just lie flat, please."
I did.
I heard Mom slip out from under the covers. The bed underneath me undulated as she drew near to my hip on her knees. I felt her hands on my hips, her fingertips under my shorts.
I drew a breath, pinched my eyes shut tightly, and prayed.
Mom slid my shorts down to my knees. She didn't say anything at all for three long seconds, and then, very quietly, she murmured, "Honey, you're terribly nervous. No penis is going to look normal when its owner is so apprehensive."
"But I am nervous, Mom."
"I am, too. I'm nervous for you."
"What do I do?"
She put a finger on my lips and said, "You need to relax, honey. Just breathe. Close your eyes. I'll give your head and shoulders some gentle touches, okay?"
I nodded.
Her fingers swept over my forehead and into my hair, delving to my scalp and rubbing little circles. They moved and rubbed, moved and rubbed. Her other hand slid under my shirt and massaged my chest and shoulders. "There," she cooed. "There's my beautiful boy, my handsome young man."
Her hand on my head slid down over my jaw. Further down to my neck and around to the back of it, she kneaded gently. The other hand, absently it seemed, found my navel and played with the sparse hairs surrounding it.
"So strong," she uttered sweetly. "So brave and kind."
Her touch was like magic. Every part of me felt utterly tranquil, despite the otherwise unnerving fact that my cock and balls were exposed to her. Mom leaned to my ear and whispered, "I'm going to look at it now, honey. Keep your eyes closed."
I swallowed. "Okay."
Her hands vanished. I waited as if time had stopped.
Nothing.
Nothing.
It must be bad, I thought. She needs time to find the most compassionate words.
Nothing.
I opened my mouth to ask, but hesitated. Mom's face was very near mine. I felt her breath on my lips. "Honey?" she began. Her hand alighted on my chest.
I opened my eyes. "Yeah?"
"It occurs to me just now that gossip about a man's penis isn't going to be about when it's soft."
"Yeah?"
"What is there to boast about? How much shorter the distance his pee has to travel before it hits the toilet bowl?" she asked with a smile.
I tried and failed to return it, not quite ready to appreciate any attempt at humor.
"Do you see what I mean, though?" she asked.
She was, I thought, probably right, and I nodded.
"If there is a rumor about your father," she explained, "it was about his erect penis, not his relaxed penis. Do you understand?"
"Yeah."
"If you want to know for sure," she said, "if you want to settle this matter for good, then I think your penis probably needs to be hard."
"Okay," I muttered. "But, Mom?"
"Yes, baby?"
"How does it look soft--by comparison, I mean?"
"Honestly, it reminds me very much of your father's."
"Okay," I breathed. Her words helped, but the matter remained unsettled. I had to know, even though sporting an erection in front of my mom utterly terrified me. How, I wondered, was this ever going to happen? I began to ask her, "Mom, how--?"
She shushed me. "First," she said, "we don't have to do this, honey. It may be deeply uncomfortable for you. Are you sure you need to know? Can't you just trust that you are perfectly made for who you are?"
"Mom, for the rest of my life, I'll be anxious. I'll be afraid to let a girl touch me."
She listened and nodded. She closed her eyes as if making a decision. When she opened her eyes, I saw gentleness there. Rubbing my chest with both hands, she drew in a breath and said, "Alright. Leave it all to me. Don't worry. Don't be nervous."
"I'll try."
"You're going to find a place in your mind where you can forget this bedroom, forget me, and imagine--imagine something else. It's okay. Let go of everything and feel. Maybe imagine this girl, Nomi, if that helps. And believe that she's excited by your body, every part of it."
I swallowed. "Okay."
"Now," she cooed, "imagine her and keep your eyes closed."
I hummed my assent.
One of Mom's hands moved to my thigh. There, it roved, stroking and kneading, sometimes down to my knee, and sometimes very near my cock. The other hand went to my tummy, where it gently slid around, exploring. At times, her fingers played with my nipple. Other times, the tips of her fingers delved as far down as my pubic hairs, where she curled them into her fist and gently tugged. Everywhere, she caressed me with affection and loving care.
But my situation was not changing. It was too strange. I couldn't imagine someone else when I knew it was Mom.
"Relax, honey," Mom murmured. "Let yourself be completely free. Can you do that?"
"I don't know, Mom. Your hands feel good, but I know they're your hands."
"What if this Nomi told you that your body feels good in her hands, that she's enjoying what she feels. Does that help to hear?"
I wanted to ask if that meant she, my mother, liked touching my body. I didn't; I nodded.
"Close your eyes."
I did.
She said, "I'm coming close. Don't react, just feel."
I felt her draw near me. With a tenderness I didn't think possible, her lips touched my cheek, and she kissed me. She kissed me again, softly and slowly. More than ten mild kisses she planted on my face. Her hand rubbed my chest and tummy, sometimes stretching down to my thigh, and while she kissed me, she whispered how good my body felt to Nomi.
I was lost to her voice and her touches, but progress remained slow.
Next to my ear, Mom asked if I liked Nomi's breasts.
Taken aback by the question, I almost opened my eyes. Instead, I took a deep breath and said, "Yeah."
She rose from my side, saying, "Keep your eyes closed and just feel Nomi's touches." Both of her hands disappeared. For a moment, nothing happened. Then, Mom moved. There was the swoosh of fabric sliding over flesh. I felt the movement of her body on the bed as she repositioned herself nearer my hip. Suddenly, a smooth, heavy mound of warm flesh dabbed my cock. Once. Twice. Then the weight settled on the shaft.
I looked. I had to.
Mom had scooped free from the nightgown her left breast. The strap hung limply around her arm. The heavy tit was resting on my cock, nipple exposed to me in profile. Mom's head tipped back toward the ceiling, and she had shut her eyes; it looked as if she were concentrating deeply.
I shut my eyes, too.
"There," she cooed. "There, baby." She began to sway softly, and her breast dragged back and forth over my dick.
I snatched a breath, nearly gasping.
"Just feel," she whispered.
My heart began to race in a good way. This was no prelude to a panic attack; this was excitement at its most thrilling. My cock surged.
"Yes," Mom breathed.
I felt it rise, pressing into the breast and beginning to push it aside.
"There, honey. Good."
With a final lurch, my cock slid the rest of the way, dragging across her bare nipple before landing on my tummy.
Mom gasped.
I felt my cock wobble with rigidity. Glancing down, I saw it pointed directly at my face, hard and ready.
"That's better," Mom declared airily. Her posture was unchanged, and it occurred to me that she looked like a woman in ecstasy. She slid her body closer to me, and I watched as the soft underside of her breast dragged from my balls, snugly held by my scrotum, along the shaft to the tip, where she paused.
The soft mass made my cock throb. A groan escaped my lips, and I shut my eyes.
"She can feel your excitement," she said. "That's so good, honey. Now, relax and let me have a look--remember to keep your eyes closed, okay?"
I closed them. "Yeah."
Her tit lifted free, and the faintest, most feminine utterance escaped her lips: a gossamer "oh." A beat passed, and then, with her thumb on one side and her index and middle fingers on the other, she raised my cock until it pointed at the ceiling.
I waited for the verdict, terrified and thrilled.
Mom's face drew near me. Her lips touched my ears, and she murmured, "It's perfect, honey. It's absolutely gorgeous."
I opened my eyes and turned to her. Our lips were fractions of an inch apart. For a brief moment, I thought she was going to kiss me. She didn't. She smiled with contagious joy.
"Is it big?" I asked.
She nodded, grinning.
I closed my eyes and sighed gratefully. Mom kissed my cheek.
When I glanced down at it, I could not help myself. I had to know. I asked, "As big as Dad's?"
She turned towards my cock, still held upright in her fingers. We both looked. Her head tilted to the side for a moment, obscuring my view. When her eyes returned to me, she shrugged. "I--I don't know, Robby. If not, it's so close as to not even matter."
I didn't know how to feel about that; I didn't say anything for several seconds.
Mom, no doubt reading the uncertainty in my face, spoke first. "I know how important this is to you, baby, but don't fret over such a minor detail. It's very big. It's a marvelous penis. You should be glad."
I sighed, thinking hard. Could even a little difference, I wondered, make a big difference?
"Honey?"
I glanced her way.
Mom looked to be debating something for a moment. Then, she said, "Since it matters that much to you, there's something I want you to see." She let my cock down and spun toward her nightstand, stowing her exposed breast in the process. She opened the drawer. Fishing in there for a few seconds, she pulled out a ruler. It was twelve inches, perfectly see-through, and somewhat wider than a typical ruler. Mom crawled beside me on her knees, bending the device upon itself with her hands to the point where I assumed it would break. It didn't. She smiled and offered it to me.
I took the thing, playing with it for a few seconds. Rigid enough to measure straight things, I decided, and bendy enough to follow curves. I glanced at Mom for an explanation.
"No," she began with a smile, "I don't need to do a lot of measuring in bed. That, I purchased ages ago for myself--and your father." Lying beside me, she rolled her eyes girlishly and said, "It excited me to measure him from time to time."
"Measure--it?"
She nodded. Opening her hand, I put the ruler there. Mom scrutinized it, muttering, "There." She put her finger on a set of faint lines--handmade lines in fine red and blue marker that I hadn't noticed before. There were ten or so marks of varying thickness and length, randomly stacked within a space of about three-quarters of an inch. "Those are your father," she said, handing it to me.
All of them?" I asked, taking the ruler.
Mom guffawed, shoving me playfully. "Well, who else's would I have measured?"
"No--Mom, that isn't what I meant. I meant, why are there different lengths?"
"I see. Well, different days. Different moods. It changes, baby. Didn't you know that?"
I shrugged. Maybe, I thought, I had noticed differences like that in myself. Then, I peered at the marks.
Mom said, "Now, I didn't measure his penis all the time or put a line on it every time I measured, but occasionally it was fun for me to do--and you can see how all the marks fall within a sort of range." After this explanation, she pointed at the tick mark farthest from the base--a red line--and giggled, "That was a good one."
I moved the ruler out of my sightline and looked down at my cock.
"Do you want me to measure you? I don't mind it." She smiled at me encouragingly.
"Will you?"
She nodded. Then, she hesitated. "I better get a marker," she muttered to herself. Turning back to her nightstand, she dug through the drawer before pulling out a green Sharpie. "A new color for yours," she said. Then she crawled over to me and sat on her heels beside my hip. Mom pulled the cap of the marker off with her teeth. She glanced my way and, with a big grin, intoned, "No peeking."
I closed my eyes.
I felt her fingers raise the shaft. Switching hands, she held my cock up by the tip. Then, the base of the ruler nestled into my pubic hair. Mom pinched the ruler against the shaft. Then, incrementally, she moved up my length, pinching the ruler against it. "I've got to be accurate," she murmured to me, "so I got a ruler that could follow the bend."
Soon, she reached the top. There, she firmly pinched the ruler against the knob of my cock. "So big and beautiful," she murmured. I felt her lean over my tummy, and then, through the ruler, I felt the subtle back-and-forth pressure of Mom making a new tick mark. She swept the ruler away and said, "Done! Open your eyes!"
I did. Mom was looking carefully at the new tick mark. "Want to see?" she asked.
I reached out, took the ruler, and looked for the green mark. And there it was, about a quarter of an inch beneath my father's shortest.
Mom must have seen my face. "Honey, that is nothing to be ashamed of! It's perfect! It's very big! It means any gossip about you will say how you are in every way you're father's son!"
I stared at that quarter-inch gap.
Mom drew right up next to me on her side, her body right alongside mine. She looked at the ruler with me. Then, she argued, "Baby, it's the first time you've been measured--and you're nervous! I just know you'll be right there with your father's best when the moment is right for you."
I set the ruler down and turned to her.
Once again, our lips were so close that we could have kissed, and suddenly I wanted to. Her eyes looked at mine with such heartfelt encouragement and hope. Her lips, parted ever so slightly, were full and wet.
I didn't kiss her. I said, "Are my balls at least more like Dad's?"
"I haven't been focused on them, honey. I think so."
"Will you check?"
"I never measured them. I wouldn't even know how," she muttered. Turning to me, she said, "To know, I may need to--." She didn't finish. She reached down. "Do you mind if I touch them?" she asked.
I shook my head.
Without a word, she cupped my balls in her hand.
I hummed airily; I did not expect her touch on that part of me to feel so good. Her fingers tenderly explored. When she turned back to face me, her hand remained, slowly and softly massaging my balls. "They're as big and heavy as your father's," she said. Before I could react, Mom planted a short, affectionate kiss on my cheek, drawing back with a smile.
"Your hand is warm," I whispered. "Feels really good." Then, checking myself, I added, "Makes me not so nervous about myself, I mean."
"I'm glad," she replied softly. Her hand continued to caress me.
"Do you think--I mean--is what you're doing making it grow?"
She peered down at my cock. "Maybe. Maybe it looks bigger." When she faced me again, she said, "Excitement can make a difference."
"A quarter-inch difference?"
"I don't know. Maybe."
We both watched her hand cradle and fondle my balls for several seconds.
Mom said, "Baby, I could measure it again right now or--or we could see if I can make it grow bigger."
"Would you make it grow bigger?"
She grinned. "May I try?"
I nodded.
"Close your eyes, honey. Think of Nomi, and let your imagination run free."
Mom used my chest as a pillow. Snuggling against me, I first felt a stronger grip on my balls. She began tugging them down--a long, slow pull. Her fingers reluctantly let my sack slip from her grip.. I felt her fingernails--but it wasn't uncomfortable, not at all. When everything slid from her grasp, she began again from the top, her palm overfull with my balls. And down. The massage was an aching, forlorn pleasure. And slow. Languorously slow.
I groaned; I couldn't stop myself.
"Yes, honey. Feel it. Feel her fingers on your beautiful testicles. And grow. Grow big for her."
I swallowed and gasped. My cock throbbed. I felt the shaft wobble and bounce off my tummy.
Mom saw it and giggled. Drawing a breath, she cooed, "You like how my hand feels, but even better is how you feel in my hand." I noticed the change from "her" to "my" and found it a strange thrill.
The slow tugs kept making me throb.
She told me she liked how my penis shook when it flexed. She described how the tip turned shiny and bright. Then, she gasped, whispering, "There's fluid! I see your pre-ejaculate, honey. It's as fresh and clear as a raindrop."
I moaned.
Mom's fingertips climbed from my scrotum. With all delicateness, they wrapped around the base of my cock, and she stroked me, once and very slowly.
I grunted.
"I just know I'm making it bigger," she whispered, and her fingers re-wrapped around me firmly. She pulled on it, and the strength of her tug drew her head down my chest. Again, she stroked, and again, her head slid down, this time onto my tummy.
How close, I wondered, is she?
Her fingers relaxed and re-clutched--I felt each finger, one by one, wrap itself resolutely around the shaft--and she tugged. Her head slid down to my navel. She kissed my belly button. Another kiss. A third. They were deep, soft kisses. A fourth. Then, she tugged my cock. Her hand was so tiny and strong. Her head slid closer, and I knew her face rested mere fractions from the tip because I felt her hot breath roll across it.
I looked. Mom's head eclipsed everything but the knob of my cock. A fat bead of precum perched upon the slit, quivering.
She cranked the shaft down, out of my sight, and then she kissed the tip. Her lips were full and soft, pressing deeply into the head of my cock. I heard the sensuous smack. When the knob returned to view, the precum had vanished.
Mom, I realized, had taken it for herself. The thought of it was electrically thrilling, and I throbbed fiercely in her hand.
Then, she was moving rapidly. I shut my eyes.
Sitting up, Mom lifted my cock. The flat edge of the ruler pressed into my pubic hair. Taking my measurement, she pinched and climbed, pinched and climbed along the bend, from the root to the tip. And at the tip, she gasped. "The marker!" she snapped. "Where is it?"
My hands scrambled for it, finding and seizing it beside her bottom. As quickly as I could, I gave it to her.
Squeezing my cock against the ruler, she excitedly breathed, "Flex it, honey. Make it throb."
I did.
"Oh!" she cried, and once again, I felt her make a mark on the ruler.
Not a second elapsed before Mom spun to me, holding out the ruler with a bright grin. "Look!" she cried.
I took it and looked.
She'd made a fresh green line, and it ran alongside, sometimes underneath and sometimes above the top mark on the ruler.
"Do you see it?" she asked eagerly.
I nodded, and I couldn't help it. I smiled.
Mom hooted with joy, throwing her arms into the air. When they came down, she threw them around me and hugged me.
"You did it, Mom," I said.
She laughed. "I did! I made it grow--I made it grow almost an inch!"
"Oh, my gosh, that's such a relief," I sighed.
She hugged me fiercely. "I'm so glad for you, honey. I'm just--I'm over the moon for you!"
"Thanks, Mom," I said, and I hugged her close.
A moment later, she pushed herself up. She bent her head toward me and asked, "Can you be content, baby? Can you be confident in your penis now?"
I nodded.
She said, "It's a wonderful, thrilling, beautiful penis--and it's as big as your father's. And who knows? Maybe someday it will be bigger."
I smiled, seeing her joy.
She collapsed beside me, holding and thanking me. Resting her head on my shoulder, she told me how much she enjoyed measuring it. With a sigh, she asked, "Is that strange, honey?--how much I liked measuring your father's penis--and now yours, too?"
"I like that you do."
She hummed sweetly. "I suppose one of the things I like about it is that when I make it go from soft to hard or from big to bigger, it means I'm making you happy, bringing you joy. I don't have to break records every time, but I do so enjoy making your penis grow."
After this, she grew quiet and gazed at my cock for some time in silence. With a contented sigh, she murmured, "It's the spitting image of your father's."
"Does it feel like his, too?"
"Yes," she said, reaching out and dragging her fingertips lightly over the veins and ridges.
"Am I as hard and as thick?"
She took it in her hand, squeezing it. "You certainly are." After saying this, Mom drew a breath into her nostrils. Letting it out, she chuckled, "This probably seems odd to you, but you smell like your father. Not your deodorant or cologne. You. Your body. Everywhere. Your penis, too, and--well--I like it."
I absorbed this idea much the same way my body reacted to the feeling of her hand as it absently squeezed my cock; I felt warm and alive and satisfied and eager for more. "Mom?" I said, "Do you think I taste like him?"
"Your penis?" she asked.
I didn't respond right away.
Her hand moved up and down the shaft.
I closed my eyes, and then I uttered, "Yeah, my penis."
"I could taste it and see," she murmured. "May I?"
"Will you, please?"
She scooted down to my hip. Licking her lips, she drew my cock sideways toward her face, and I watched her puckered lips reach out, open wide, and latch upon the knob. Her cheeks drew inward. I felt gentle suction, and with a wet smack, she released me.
But, not for long. Her tongue extended and flattened, and she bent down and dragged it from the root to the peak. Finishing the job, her tongue curled back into her mouth, and her throat undulated and swallowed. She closed her eyes as if remembering. Opening them and gazing at my cock, she said, "Yes, honey. Your penis tastes like your father's."
"Do you like it?"
She nodded. Surveying and gently stroking my cock, she said, "Very much."
Through surging waves of pleasure, I uttered, "You can keep tasting it, Mom, if you want to."
Mom hummed sweetly. "That sounds nice, but I could suck on it, too."
At those words, I turned toward her.
Her eyes were there, looking straight into mine. She said, "I would like to. May I suck on your penis, baby?"
I nodded.
"Would that help you feel less anxious around girls?"
I nodded.
"And make you confident in yourself?"
"I think so," I said, and I could barely hear my voice.
She let go of my cock. She pulled off my shirt, and then she stripped my shorts and socks from my legs, leaving me completely naked. I spread my legs for her, and she crawled between them until her knees touched the insides of my thighs. With her feet tucked under her body, she bent over me, grabbed the shaft, and raised it high. Peering up at me, she said, "You can close your eyes and imagine Nomi if you want to."
I didn't close my eyes.
She slid her other hand between my legs and began massaging my balls. "Or," she murmured, "it might be special if you watched me do it."
"I want to watch you, Mom."
She smiled. She brought my cock to her lips, but she didn't open her mouth. Instead, she moved the tip against them, rubbing her lips with it. Sometimes, the tip dipped slightly inside; sometimes it touched her cheek. Always, she stared down at it with something like hunger in her expression. Then, she quit. Mom held it firmly and let her lips open and close over that knob. Her tongue pushed against it, and then she sucked very, very gently. Her eyes found mine, and she hummed with satisfaction before drawing back with a wet smack.
"Mom--," I began, unable to finish.
"I like it when you watch me suck on it," she breathed.
Her eyes astonished me. So dark and warm under the light of just one bedside lamp. In her eyes, I saw fierce desire. She hungered to do this thing. Yet, in them, I also saw gentle love. Mom cherished me; she sought to envelop me in her affection. I suddenly realized just how lucky I was; I swallowed a gulp.
She returned her full attention to my cock, and with a faint moan, she closed her mouth over the knob and descended with painstaking tenderness. Halfway down, she rose back to the tip, glancing at me and revealing a veiny shaft halfway coated with her glistening saliva. Without unlatching, she turned back, lowering smoothly. Her lips glided. Stopping at the same point as before, I watched in awe as her lips broke their seal on the shaft and stretched downward, reaching and gathering. She hummed again, a sound so replete with feminine pleasure that gooseflesh electrified the hairs on my arms and the back of my neck.
She paused, gathering herself, it seemed. Her lips slid incrementally up the shaft, and then, quite suddenly, her head lurched downward, taking up more of my length.
I grunted at the sensation.
Mom held there, but her tongue caressed and massaged, spreading her saliva around and over her newly achieved gains. Most--not all--of my cock was in her mouth. The head of my cock throbbed wherever it dwelled in the depths of her throat; I didn't understand how she wasn't choking.
Rising, then, she rendered up an inch and then, as if changing her mind, she almost lazily took back half of that inch. And again. And again. Every turn--every half-inch regained after an inch given up--was a revelation in pleasure. I tipped my head back and growled deeply.
She gave up the shaft with such hungry reluctance. It was as if she wanted this experience to tell me, Robby, this is the place--in my mouth--where your cock was meant to abide. Only in my mouth, her actions seemed to say, can it be strengthened and loved as it was meant to be.
At the top, after she'd given up all but the tip, she turned to me. Her face was pink with exertion. Her eyes, glassy. She drew off with a gasp, and she sucked greedily at the air, almost wheezing. This was an effort for her; I had no idea.
My mom often told me that she loved me. Through the years, I had heard her say the words many times.
This was different.
This was seeing with my own eyes her effort--all for my benefit--in real time. I began to understand how deeply she wanted to please me. She loved me so much that she would pour all of herself into a gift that would strengthen and satisfy me.
I was in awe. I was humbled. I reached out to caress her face, and when she felt my hand on her cheek, she leaned into my touch.
Still struggling to catch her breath, Mom's chin inadvertently bumped against the head of my cock. She reacted as if it were a nudge: her cheek left my hand and she opened wide, greedily seeking out the tip. As she closed her mouth over it, she uttered a high, breathless gulping sound.
Up and down her lips towed along the shaft. Steadily and insistently. From the knob down to her deepest dive. My cock appeared and nearly vanished in a languorous, sensual rhythm.
I was getting dizzy. My body grew hot. It felt so agonizingly perfect that my hands clutched the bedcovers, wadding them in my fists. I threw my head back and swore for the first time in my life in front of my mom. Mom heard it and hummed, and the sweet, encouraging sound of it told me she liked drawing such an impassioned response from me.
Up and down. In her labor, she managed once to peer up at me. When our eyes met, I wanted to tell her that I loved her, but I couldn't form words. The intensity of the pleasure she wrought seemed to strip me of the ability to do anything but enjoy.
Up and down. Her throat made wet, guttural clucks at each passage of my pulsing cock.
Not just burning anymore, I was a supernova. It was pure and white-hot. The searing satisfaction was so overwhelming that my body seemed to sweep my mind aside. It was spectacular and alarming at the same time, being out of control. Mom was all-powerful over me. "Mom!" I hollered like a lost little boy.
When my eyes found hers again, she was at the top. My cock pulsed wildly inside of her lips; I teetered on the precipice of an astonishing climax. I didn't want her to move. It was too much, too sudden--too exhilarating. If she just stayed there, with only the tip in her mouth, I thought, I might be able to cope.
Her big eyes smiled, and then her head dropped into my lap. All the way down. Everything. I saw her lips embed themselves in my pubic hair, and I hollered.
And it was like when she pushed me too high on that playground swing when I was small. I wasn't ready for such height. I called out her name in fear, but she pushed me anyway, and I soared. And I didn't fall. And I saw the world from a new summit. And the speed of the swing as it swept through its arc threw back my hair in dizzying rushes. And I cried out in joy. And when I saw her beside me, she smiled at the gift she'd given.
That was how I came. There was that moment of almost panic--wouldn't my heart explode if it beat any harder? And then there was a revelation--Mom's got me; I'm safe there, nestled snugly in her mouth, and she's giving my body something utterly new and amazing, a moment of stunning perfection. And I cried out in joy.
Her mouth and throat absorbed the vigorous pulses, and when I could think, I understood she wasn't so much swallowing my cum, but like a warm welcome home, she greeted each wave of semen with unimpeded passage to her tummy. Never had I cum so hard or so long, and she kept all of me.
Past the peak, I found myself returning to the ground, able to control myself again. Though my cock twitched and spilled intermittently, I sat up. Mom remained latched. I stroked and petted her head. I thanked her. In what eighteen-year-old boy words I could find, I told her how good she made me feel.
Then, she drew a gasp from me. Without warning and in one smooth motion, she unsheathed my cock and rose to her knees before me, chuffing air through lips glistening with sticky globs and ropes of saliva. Her eyes met mine. Clear fluid fell from her chin onto her heaving breasts.
I reached for her. She took my hand and collapsed between my legs. Resting her head on my thigh, she curled into a fetal position as she fought for air. I held her hand and caressed her face and head. For nearly a minute, this went on; she chuffed air, and I stroked her.
Eventually, Mom planted a tired kiss on my balls, sighing contentedly. I whispered kind, loving words to her, and as my flagging cock came to rest on her cheek, she opened her exhausted eyes and she smiled weakly. Not long after, she fell asleep in my lap under my gentle touches and soft words. Her face was lustrous with saliva, and it served as a soft pillow for my tired cock.
I woke when I heard my sister open the garage door. Mom's clock read 2:42 am. She was still there, in my lap. Without waking her, I slid out from under her head. I put the ruler and marker in her nightstand drawer, but not before finding a long, veiny rechargeable device in there. It made me smile. I found my clothes and put them on. Then, I scooped Mom in my arms and took her to her spot. She stirred.
After covering her up, I shut off her lamp. "Robby?" she whispered.
"Yeah?"
"Thank you for putting me to bed."
"It's nothing, Mom. I love you."
"Are you feeling better about yourself?"
"A lot."
I saw the shadow of her hand reaching out from under the covers. I took it in mine, and she squeezed it. "I'm so glad," she whispered.
"Yeah."
"Will you call Nomi tomorrow and ask her out?"
"Definitely."
"Good," she responded, letting go of my hand.
"Well," I said, "Good night, Mom--and thank you for making me feel better about everything."
I waited for a reply, but she remained stone silent. Sleepy, I guessed. So, I walked around her bed toward the door.
"Honey?"
I stopped. "Yeah?"
Her voice was hesitant and vulnerable. "If you ever want, I hope you'll let me measure your penis again, like I did tonight."
"Yeah--yes. I want you to. I liked it a lot, Mom."
"Me, too," she murmured, and I heard the relief in her voice. Contentment, too. As I reached for the handle, I heard her say, "I like helping you grow big and strong."
That was exactly how I felt, and to this day, her gift has never left me.
*****
Thanks to readers. I apologize if any errors pulled you out of the narrative. This is self-edited--often an imperfect enterprise. Thoughtful feedback is always appreciated. -