Quickie: Measuring Up

*****

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.