measurring my cum Pt.1

I cannot confirm whether this story is purely a work of fiction or has elements of truth. I will leave it to your imagination…

*

My problem started soon after I had just turned 18. My name is Jacob and I’m just a regular kind of guy. Or so I thought. Ok, so I had a few issues back then, but doesn’t everyone at 18? For me most of these issues revolved around my mom being temperamental and difficult, and the way I had been brought up.

My mom, Margaret Addington, or Marge as she liked to be known, had divorced three years back, and now at 55, in the prime of her life, she had become a bit of a recluse. She’d given up on men, ‘I’m not giving myself to another man’ she would say angrily, when I’d suggest she maybe try meeting someone. ‘Not after all the trouble your father gave me’ she would continue. ‘One man in my life has been quite enough’.

My mom had a tough life until she divorced. She’d married quite late compared to others in her generation at 35, been my father’s second wife and it seemed he’d only married her to have someone cook and clean and provide some carnal satisfaction. They had argued a lot – as far back as I could remember, and enough for me to get sick of it. Anyway, it all finally ended with a divorce and with me as an only child. And now mom just wanted to stick to working in her job of many years as a librarian until she retired, enjoying her garden, and the occasional women’s institute gathering, a few female friends and of course taking care of her only precious child — yours truly.

The problem for me in all of this was that I had been over protected, and mom had a fiery temper, and would be very controlling. She was also quite prudish and straight laced. Now, at the age of 18 when I just wanted to break free and experience life, I felt guilty about leaving her alone. We had no other family close by, so I felt obliged to stay on at home and go to my local college rather than move away. And that meant losing my freedom, and having to cope with mom’s controlling ways, and her moodiness and temperament.

This was not easy. Sometimes she would fly off the handle over the smallest thing. I’d argue back and then she’d sulk or not talk to me for ages until I came round to her way of thinking. And mostly, I would give in. I wanted a quiet life. It was either that, or the guilt I would feel by moving out. So I decided to stay. Looking back, I think that was a mistake in some ways, but as this story unfolds, you might think otherwise.

Before I go on, some descriptions. I was 5’8″ average to heavy build with dark hair, and I wore glasses. I didn’t think I was bad looking, but I had never really made it with girls up to then, and never had a girlfriend. I was still a virgin at that stage.

Mom at 55, was 5’6″, with dark hair, which she liked to keep in a bun, and a dress size of between 12 and 14. She had filled out, so to speak, as many women do in their late forties and fifties, but she did still have curves and a figure of sorts. She had quite a voluptuous frame with largish boobs that definitely filled out anything she wore (I found out later she was a size 38DD), and a good-sized rear end — not gross, but quite a nice full, curvy bottom.

And if you were going to ask me ‘Did I ever fantasize about my mom sexually?’ my answer would be yes, of course. Many a time. Don’t most sons’ at one time or another? This story is actually about how those fantasies, quite unexpectedly became a reality.

So back to the story. I had just turned 18. Like most guys I had been masturbating for some years. I had what I thought was a reasonable stash of porn — magazines, videos and DVDs. Then for some inexplicable reason I started to develop a regular ache in my balls which I had never experienced before. It would start gradually in the mornings and then build up to an uncomfortable feeling by the end of the day. The only way to relieve the discomfort would be to bring myself off and get rid of my cum when I got home in the evenings. I’d have to do it at least three times during the course of the evening. By the end of my third wank, I’d be fine and comfortable again. And the funny thing about this was I always seemed to have plenty of semen. I never seemed to dry up or produce a small quantity, even after the third time of the evening. After a few weeks of this I decided I needed to get some medical advice. There was surely something not quite right.

I felt embarrassed about going to our family doctor. I had never really discussed anything sexual with mom before (as I said before, she was quite a prude and didn’t approve of ‘modern girls’ behaviour), but I felt as this was a health issue, I should ask her advice on it. I didn’t know who else to turn to, in all honesty — I didn’t really want to discuss it with my friends.

One evening after our dinner we were in the living room. I was reading a magazine and Mom was knitting (I was only allowed a TV in my room as mom rarely watched TV, refusing to have ‘those awful shameless programmes with semi nudity and violence mixed with commercials ‘ in her living room).

“Mom, I’ve got a bit of a problem,” I said.

“What’s that dear?” she said, not looking up at me.

“Well,” I replied rather awkwardly, ” It’s a little embarrassing.”

“Come on Jacob, speak up,” she replied rather sternly this time, and giving me a cursory glance.

“Well, it’s a little personal” I continued again, hesitatingly.

She stopped her knitting, straightened up her body a little and looked at me rather seriously. “Tell me young man,” she said keenly, “Have you got a girl in trouble?”

“Er…no mom,” I replied. “It’s more of a personal health thing.”

“Go on then,” she said relaxing a little and starting up her knitting again. “Don’t be shy.”

“Er…well its about my…er,” I hesitated, “… private parts,” I said squirmingly, and in a low tone.

“About what?” she said loudly.

“Well, it’s about my testicles” I said not looking at her but the carpet in front of the sofa.

She stopped knitting again.

“Go on” she said, more gently than I had expected.

“Well, I seem to have some aches and discomfort there. I was wondering if I should se a doctor.”

“Are you sure you’ve not been with a girl and caught something?” she replied accusingly.

“No mom, honestly” I said.

She thought for a moment. “How long has this been going on?”

“A few weeks” I said

“A few weeks?” she replied questioningly. “Why didn’t you say anything before?”

“I was embarrassed. And I thought it might clear up by itself.”

“Oh,” she said, looking concerned. “Well, I’m not sure what I can do except get you in front of a doctor. I’m not too keen on you seeing our family doctor Jacob because our health center is full of gossips and I wouldn’t want my son to be thought of in a funny way — they’ll probably think you’ve caught something off someone.”

I felt a bit horrified that mom would think like that, but I could sort of see her point.

“I’ll have to take you to a private clinic,” she said after another pause.

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Two days later we were both sitting in the reception of a private sexual health clinic.