“…And it’s not even hard…” I remember saying. “My son has a fat dick” I shook my head slowly, Part satisfaction part…Pride.

Evidently I spoke kinda loud because suddenly Brian grunted and shifted his weight. As he turned, I pulled my hand back like the damn thing was gunna bite me. And when I did, I inadvertently slid my finger over my son’s penis. I was immediately aware of the contact. I quickly stood up, straight, rigid actually, and quickly stepped back from the couch with my hands to my mouth. I don’t know what was wrong with me. I was peeking in my son’s fly- STICKING MY FINGER IN IT WHILE HE SLEPT! – and for some reason, I was on the verge of giggling.

My first thought should have been to run out of the living room and up to my room in case he woke up. Maybe call some kind of 24 hour HOT-LINE or a support group or something. Did they have support groups for moms that poke at their kid’s underwear? Probably not.

Anyway-All I thought about was, “I touched it!” I stood there trying to be quiet and still as Brian settled in with a long sign. I stood frozen, staring, for what seemed like a long time.

As luck would have it, {Good luck? – Bad luck? – Dumb luck? – The jury was still out.} Brian’s penis had worked its way out through the fly of his boxers as he’d shifted positions.

{I remember my mouth dropped open and I believe I might have stopped breathing for ten or fifteen minutes.}

I could see almost all of it. There was no question. There was no need for anymore confirmation. It lay over to one side, maybe a little more than 6 inches and as fat around as a good sized banana…a very good sized banana.

I couldn’t help but wonder, “What if it was hard?”

For a split second, I started to think about how I could accomplish such a feat.

I shook my head trying to shake the thought away and quickly took another step back to gather my wits. I couldn’t believe what I was thinking. Did I really want to see how big my son’s dick would get? Did I really want to see my own son’s cock… …get hard?

I wondered what I might be willing to do to make this happen. A hot flash washed over me as if I’d opened an oven door and I realized that I had to leave.

Wow! It was somewhat sobering.

I was ashamed of myself for the way I felt. After all, suppose he was to wake up and find that his hard penis was sticking out of his shorts and that his mother was hovering over him. “My God!” I thought. How would I explain something like THAT?

I quickly and quietly left the living room and ran upstairs to my bedroom. I lay in bed until well after midnight wrestling with my conscience, trying to get a handle on everything. I knew it was wrong, what I did and the way I was thinking, but I couldn’t seem to help it.

Images of my father flashed in my mind. The smell of his cologne and bourbon filled my nostrils. Memories of inappropriate moments made me shiver but oddly enough, made me warm between my legs.

I remember thinking how glad I hadn’t had anymore to drink and what might have happened had I had a “fair well Long Island ice tea”.

Jimmy {My husband} had been gone for more than two years at that point in time. I tried to convince myself that maybe these thoughts and actions were a product of loneliness and that I was still missing Jimmy, but deep down, the more I thought about it, the more I knew there was more to it. I knew that somewhere along the line I had somehow become obsessed with my son’s penis.

At first, I was troubled and embarrassed by the thoughts and images that seemed to work their way into my head. They seemed to bombard me with more and more frequency. The fact was, I wanted to see my son’s with his dick hard and imagined different scenarios that would get me what I wanted.

I reminded myself that such things were forbidden, morally wrong but I also knew for a fact that these kinds of things happened all the time in all walks of life.

As time passed, I found that I’d become more tolerant, more comfortable with the things I thought about, even excepting, if not embracing them at times.

I found that late at night when I was alone in my bed, that somewhere along the line these forbidden thoughts and images turned into welcomed dreams and yearnings, even fantasies.

At first I shamefully tried to suppress the urge but found it useless most times. I told myself that nothing would ever come of such thoughts and desires and wondered if my father had told himself the same thing. Before I knew it, these feelings led to masturbation and to my surprise, some very intense orgasms. I was obsessed.

Except for the occasional glance or the fleeting feeling, I pretty much kept my dark fantasies to myself. It was August 19th, Brian’s 17th birthday, as a matter of fact, when all that changed.

It was early on a Saturday morning; I had just come in from a run and figured I’d gather up the dirty clothes and do a load of laundry before I took a shower.

I approached Brian’s bedroom door with an armload of dirty clothes from my room. I quietly turned the knob and took a step in as quietly as I could, hoping not to wake him.

To my disbelief, Brian was stretched out on his bed with his pajama bottoms pushed down past his knees. I froze there, mid-step. His eyes were closed and I could hear him softly cooing, “Yeah, that’s it. Do it…” But my real attention was on what was in his hand. I stood there by the door in my running shorts and sports bra, an arm full of dirty clothes and my hand still on the doorknob and watched my son jerking himself off.

He was so into what he was doing that he never even noticed me standing there. I was unable to move or say anything as I watched him masturbating. I knew I should leave but simply put, I didn’t want to.

There was no doubt about what I was seeing this time. He was more than just ‘aroused’. There was no “Washburn Curse” going on here; that was for sure. He was hard now, really hard. Once again what stood out was the thickness of it. As I watched his hand moving up and down, it was easy to see that his fingers didn’t reach all the way around its’ thickness. He stroked it with one hand and it was easy to see that at least three inches of meat stuck out past the top of his hand and at least as much beneath it.

“My God it’s huge…” I thought to myself, and it WAS; almost to the point of being freakish.

I just stood there and watched as his hand moved up and down, up and down. I couldn’t look away.

“That’s it…” He moaned. “Do it…”

I had no idea how long I was standing there. I felt like I was in a dream.

I hadn’t seen a whole lot of dicks in my life but I wasn’t a nun either. And outside of any magazines or the Inter-Net, I had never seen a dick that big, that fat on any man… …let alone a 17-year-old boy. {Not that I’ve seen a lot of 17-years-old’s dicks} I stood there totally amazed as my son started to squirm around and moan a little louder, still completely unaware that I was standing there less than ten feet away. When his hand started moving faster, it became clear to me that he wasn’t going to last much longer.

I should have quietly shut the door and left. I should have been

thinking about how embarrassed both of us would be if he were to catch

me watching, how awkward it would be, but instead; the fact that I was going to actually watch my son cum seemed to govern my thought process.

Oddly enough, all I could think of was how much cum would come out of such a fat dick. Then he moaned something that I would have never expected. It simply floored me.

“Yeah Mom… …Ga-head…” He moaned as he jerked off. “Ga-head- do it.”

“Oh my God!” I whispered―Out loud―and dropped the dirty clothes to the floor.

Brian’s eyes sprang open and he quickly turned his head towards me. His hand had stopped pumping but it remained wrapped around his dick. When our eyes met, he looked as shocked as I was. I just stared at him, dumbfounded, speechless.

“Mom!!!” He barked as he let go of his dick and scrambled for his pajama bottoms.

“I’m… …I’m so sorry Brian!” I fluttered, just as embarrassed as he was. “I… …I…”

I tried to pick up the clothes and leave as he struggled to pull his pajama bottoms up. I gathered the clothes and stood up just as he swung his feet to the floor and dropped his hands into his lap attempting to hide the bulge. Good luck there.

“I was just. . .I came in to get. . . .I thought you’d be. . . .”

I stuttered and mumbled nervously as I tried to apologize.

He looked up at me. The embarrassment poured into his face and I could see the humiliation in his eyes. I felt so bad for him. I instinctively took a step toward him to comfort him.

“It’s OK. . .” I told him. As I stepped closer, Brian pulled back a little, forcing his gaze to the floor, unable to look at me.

I took a deep breath. “It’s no big deal Brian.” I blurted out, trying to sound lighthearted and nonchalont. “All guys do it. Your uncle Jimmy did it all the time, excessively.” I told him trying to make light of it all.

{ I recalled that when I’d walked in on my brother doing it, he’d had the opposite reaction. He had actually asked me if I wanted to watch him. I was 13. I told him I did and stood there beside his bed and watched him bring himself to climax.}

“Not in front of his mom.” He whispered and turned his gaze towards the window. I thought what he’d said was kinda funny and couldn’t help but giggle a little bit.

“Well, yeah… …I guess he didn’t. But he seemed to have no problem doing it in front of me.” I told him.

“You’re kidding?”

“No―I’m not.”

I put my hand on his shoulder and rubbed it a little bit. “Your dad used to do it in front of me all the time too.” I confessed.

He turned and looked at me kinda surprised. I shook my head, “He did.” I assured him. Brian sat there quiet and self-conscious.

“I’m really sorry I came in Honey.” I whispered. {In hind-sight, I wasn’t sorry at all.} “I thought you’d be asleep. I guess wishing you a Happy Birthday would seem kinda silly now, huh?”

“Yeah, thanks for the big box of ‘Embarrassed’. Just my size too.” He tells me with a forced smile. It was nice to see that he still had his sense of humor.