I was Becoming Concerned

I was becoming concerned for my son. For years he had been shy and introverted, girls seemed to terrify him whenever they were in close proximity. Of course, He had relatives that did not affect him this way, but they were the exception. But all this was before his senior year in high school. Now that he was in the last semester of high school and just turned eighteen, Bradley was suddenly a girl magnet. He was dating several girls at any given time, and even stacked dates on the same day. He would see one during the day on Saturday, and another at night the same day!

This had been going on for a couple of months now and my instincts were telling me to caution Bradley on this cavalier attitude toward the opposite sex.

The school Bradley was attending was quite large for a high school. The district had combined two schools to consolidate as an economic measure, and in so doing the student population ballooned to over six thousand. Instead of getting lost in the crowd, Bradley reveled in the attention of the available girls.

That is until a falling out occurred. From my vantage point as mother and observer, I assumed Bradley had pushed his luck and had been called out on his philandering.

Little did I know!

Bradley came home each day just a little worse for wear than the previous day. After a week of this dejected behavior, I decided an intervention was in order. I met him at the door on a Friday after school and asked him why he had been so blue of late? His response was that he couldn't talk to me about it, it was too personal.

By Saturday afternoon, he was in a real funk. He sat and watched TV, which he hardly ever did, and I had to cajole him into eating lunch. Allan, Bradley's father, my husband was at the golf course for the afternoon so I decided to try again to intervene in my son's personal life. This time he was apparently ready to talk. He started to lambast a girl named Carla. She had spread a rumor that Bradley was gay because of something he had done, or not done – I was having difficulty following his diatribe, but apparently Carla was a popular girl, and held some influence with the other kids in school.

Bradley opened his Facebook page and showed me some of the comments being left by girls he said were once friends, until Carla started her smear campaign. As my son read the comments, a tear welled up and smeared wetly down his cheek. My heart was broken. My son was hurting and it devastated me. In an attempt to break the foul spell we were under I told him to wash up for dinner and he sluggishly made his way to the bathroom to clean up. But he had left his Facebook page opened. I didn't hesitate; I quickly scanned the comments and deduced that many of the girls had been in sexual situations with Bradley. This confused me as Carla's claim that he was gay did not fit the commentary.

What was missing in all of this was just how the girls had been intimate with my son. They never said that they had sex just that they had been with him and were confident enough to support Carla's accusation. They were obviously keeping it clean in case they were found out, but my understanding of sex was pretty clear and what these girls were saying left more questions than answers.

I began to wonder if my son was in fact gay. I loved him unconditionally, and really did not care if he was gay. But I could not stand by and allow these mean spirited girls to hurt my baby boy.

Allan called and interrupted my mental machinations. He said he would be home late as he was stopping off for a few beers with the guys.

Bradley and I ate dinner and kept quiet for the most part. As we cleaned up the dishes I asked him, "How do you feel about being called gay?"

He winced noticeably, then answered, "I like girls mom, not guys."

I breathed a sigh of relief, and let his answer hang in the air for a few moments before I attempted another inquiry.

"So why do you think this Carla girl would call you gay?" I watched Bradley closely as he responded, wanting to see his response as well as hear it.

"Carla used to date Peter Cargill, the student body president and quarterback for the football team. But he dumped her for a college girl and ever since Carla has been dating every guy in school and letting everyone know about it."

"But..." I started to ask.

"But when she asked me out I put her off, I wasn't sure of her motives."

"Is that why she lashed out? Because you rebuffed her?"

"No. I finally went out with her, but she uh...Well she – we couldn't – you know?"

Bradley had turned deep red. His cheeks were rosy red and he avoided my gaze. He was embarrassed!

"I still don't see how that..." I wondered aloud before he cut me off.

"Mom! The other girls had bragged about being with me, but when Carla tried..."

He left it unsaid, and expected me to understand. But I didn't. "How does that make you gay?"

"Because I told her that I have never been with a girl before, you know, like all the way..."

I must have looked stupid because now I was totally confused. So he continued.

"She started calling out some of the girls that said they had been with me, and they turned on me. I think they were just bullied into it, but it's just as bad."

I was trying to put it together in my mind, without making Bradley drag up unpleasant memories.

"So why did these girls say that they had been...with you?"

"It wasn't for lack of trying." He shook his head for emphasis. "But they were too small."

"Too small?" I didn't realize I had said this out loud.

"Yeah, we played around and stuff, but we couldn't do it for real."

"And Carla blames you?"

"I guess."

Just then Allan came through the door and stifled our conversation. Bradley went to his room and I fed Allan his dinner. I debated discussing the situation with Allan, but decided against it. I wasn't sure I wanted to be involved.

That night, as I readied for bed, I pondered on what Bradley had said about the girls being too small. Strange I thought; how all the girls could be so afflicted. It had not been that long since I had been a young girl and learned the ways of sex. Then I recalled my first time with Allan. He was well endowed, somewhere in the eight inch range, and very thick. That is when it dawned on me – the girls weren't all small – Bradley was large - Too large for the girls.

I began to toss and turn. I couldn't sleep. So I began to fondle Allan. He became hard and in a half sleep he slid between my legs and gave me the release I craved. I slept the rest of the night fitfully. I resolved to get to the bottom of it in the morning.

Morning came and after breakfast Allan went to putter in the yard. I asked Bradley to help clean up the kitchen and he groaned, as teenagers do, but relented and helped.

As we cleaned, I brought up as diplomatically as I could his assertion about the girls, "Honey, you mentioned last night that the girls were too small."

"Yeah." He mumbled, apparently reluctant to say much more.

I then used my Psyc 101 on him, "Bradley do understand what projection is?"

"Projection?" He looked stupefied.

"Projection is when we 'project' our perceived shortcomings onto others."

"How?"

"Well, like when we blame someone else for something we caused."

"Like when you yell at me for leaving the toilet seat up?"

"How am I projecting a shortcoming?"

"Well, you are the one who can't pee standing up."

We both broke into a laugh that managed to also break the rising tension.

After a few minutes, I picked up on my theme once again.

"When you said your girlfriends are too small, did you mean that you are too large?"

I abruptly discerned I had violated a boundary with my son.

Bradley stood still and nodded his head. He looked at me and then demurred as he confessed, "I have been larger than the other guys for as long as I remember. I used to be embarrassed by it, but then I started dating girls. And one thing led to another and suddenly girls were asking me out on dates like I was popular or something."

He had just let it all out like a broken dam. I could see the relief wash over him as he talked.

"But when we tried to have sex it was like they tried real hard but couldn't, you know?"

He shot a sideways glance at me as he said this. I nodded as if I understood, but I didn't. I had no idea what these girls were capable of, or willing to try, so I really had no clear understanding of the true dilemma.

"They told each other stories like girls do, they all talk with each other, and word got out that I was some great lover or something." He paused and I sat down and gave him my undivided attention. "The first girl to be with me was Gina Cortez. She and I had been friends for years before but never like that. Butch Lowery used to go with her and I think he told her I was... uh... big."

He went to the fridge for a glass of orange juice and paused as he poured. He then sipped his juice and continued. Gina told me that she and Butch had been together, you know, sexually. And I had hopes of her being the one to be my first."

I squirmed in my seat, the salacious narrative had my juices flowing as I clung on every word he uttered.

"But when we tried, I just couldn't... She was too small – I mean, I was too big." He shot a furtive glance toward me, realizing he was projecting on her."

I smirked an understanding smile.

He continued, "It's been the same ever since."

I mused aloud, "All those girls and still a virgin?"

"Well, we did things, but just not that..."

I imagined what they might have been up to during those frantic interludes. Up to now I had imagined him as large as his father, in fact when I put an image to my notion of him; it was his father's penis I imagined. As he continued unabated for several minutes cataloging his girlfriends and his successes and failures with them, I found myself looking at his groin trying to surmise his true magnitude. He was wearing overly large athletic trunks and they were frustrating my ability to surmise anything.

Suddenly, I realized he had stopped talking, and was looking directly at me as I stared at his crotch.

I jumped up and stuttered about something I had to do and I hurried from the room. I went into the laundry room and shut the door. I was gasping for air and felt the dread of embarrassment wash over me.

My heart pounded its perverse excitement in my temples as I tried to make sense of my behavior. I cast about for any means for explaining to Bradley why I had been staring at his junk. My mind was a jumble of raw nerves – at once I imagined his thick manhood, and my contrition for having imagined it at all.

I stayed in the laundry for at least a half-hour. When I emerged it was to my immediate relief that Bradley had gone out for the afternoon. I had time to think now; but my thoughts always turned to the root of the problem, his indescribable size. Was it just that the young girls were too inexperienced to make it work? Or was it that Bradley was freakishly large? The answer, I concluded, was the basis for finding a resolution to the problem.

That night poor Allan received the mauling of his life. My libido was supercharged by all this sex talk and I was not to be denied my orgasm. I slept only because of my exhausted state – But I dreamed...

I awoke with a start when Allan's alarm went off. I usually sleep through it, but I was dreaming at the time. I had dreamed that I was coaching Gina Cortez and Bradley in the finer art of lovemaking. I was sweating and realized that my heart was beating forcefully in my chest. As Allan showered for work, I made coffee. I saw him off to work and decided to wake Bradley for school a little early. Looking back on this decision it was a bit Freudian. But at the time I was just pretending to be a mother.

As I opened his door and called his name softly, I searched for him in the dim light. As my eyes adjusted to the dimness of the room, I caught a glimpse of something remarkable. I saw as I stared at my son's thigh a mammoth shape snaking down his leg and ending just above his knee. I gasped and Bradley woke.

"Mom? What time is it?"

"Uh...it's time to get up honey. Hustle now you don't want to be late for school..." I stuttered as I backed out of his room.

He was never late. It was too early for him to be up, and I never woke him up for school. He was bound to see through my machinations. I shivered from the thought of him busting me for my subterfuge.

But he didn't. He showered and shaved, and when he emerged for breakfast I had almost stopped shaking from my revelation.

Just as he was leaving for school, he turned and asked, "Mom was there something you wanted to talk about?"

Of course he was referring to my invasion of his privacy for an inexplicable reason.

"Uh, no honey. We can talk after school if you would like..." And I left it like that for the entire day. I dreaded his return. Would he expect me to have something substantive to discuss? What would he say if I explained that I did understand what those girls were so frustrated with? Would he be heartened or discouraged by my admission? I began to think that this was a subject his father should deal with and I began to consider just such a course of action when Bradley burst into the house after school and slammed the door.

I asked worriedly, "What's wrong?"

"I don't want to talk about it!" he said with finality and went to his room, slamming that door too.

I gave him his space and had a pretty good idea of how I was going to approach his father when suddenly he emerged from his room. He seemed to have calmed down and I asked him if there was anything I could do?

"I'm sorry mom. I just had a bad day."

I smiled and resolved to hand off the entire thing to his father.

I had a Facebook account that I used to keep track of relatives, as that was how everyone seemed to interact anymore. Just as a test to see what I might find out, I picked up my tablet computer and searched for Gina Cortez and found her page. She had not posted anything for several days, but in searching her friends, I found "Carla", her last name was Peters.

Carla had posted to her account all through the day. She had started off by asking if anyone had seen Brad this morning, "...cause everyone in home period did!" A girl named Cindy added to the conversation, "He sure was excited!" another added "Yeah, probly cuz of all the guys that sit in front of him!"

Cruel bitches, I thought. Now I knew what the matter was. Telling his father would destroy Bradley's little pride left to him. I decided to try again to approach my son.

I found him in the den, TV going with a basketball game on.

"Honey we need to talk..." I started.

Bradley ignored me.

I decided to use a little shock therapy, "I saw the posts on Facebook."

That got his attention.

"They posted to Facebook?" He was incredulous.

I assumed he knew. I was wrong.

"Honey, it's okay. This happens to boys your age..."

He turned a horrible shade red as his embarrassment was etched over his face.

He began to cry and I along with him I reached for him and hugged him, holding him closely as we wept.

"Damn it!" he exclaimed, "This never happened until..."

I didn't grasp his meaning, so I asked, "Until what?"

"Mom, I'm used to having...uh...you know...release, ten or fifteen times a week."

I was shocked; fifteen times a week? I never had sex that often in a month, much less a week. I realized he was waiting for a response and so I asked him if he ever just took care of it himself?

"I have, but it just isn't the same, you know?"

When he asked the rhetorical question he surely meant "did I understand", but from my perspective it was much more distinct and pointed to my experience – I saw it as a literal question – "have you ever"?

I stuttered and sputtered, "Uh, well..." I had the import of our situation bearing down on me. The pressure was immense. "Well I have, before...you know, sometimes..." I was babbling, and looking at the floor. When I raised my eyes to meet my son's, he was smiling.

"You masturbate mom?"

It was my turn to blush. My response was more information than the situation warranted. I had divulged too much to my son and now I was retreating emotionally.

"That's not the point of this Bradley. You should be ashamed of yourself!"

He recoiled from my censure and began to apologize. "I'm sorry..."

But in that moment I couldn't let him shoulder the grief and guilt of my missteps. I grabbed him and held him tightly, "Don't apologize son, I love you so much, never be sorry for anything." Of course I meant "never be sorry for my mistakes" but that is not what he heard.

I was holding him and sobbing into his shoulder when I felt it. He was adjusting himself as we clutched one-another. I felt him as he moved it between us. I pretended not to notice – that is what caused this latest ruckus with the girls at school. I resisted moving and allowed him his moment.

I held him tightly and considered acknowledging his manipulations, but didn't. He adjusted the gap between us to accommodate his access to himself. He was massaging it softly at first, and then the force and speed with which he moved increased. He was trembling and his breath came in gasps as he was firmly jerking on the inhuman appendage between us. In moments he was grunting into the nape of my neck as he climaxed.

Bradley slumped into me and relaxed totally, his breath warmly billowing against my neck. I became uncomfortable and thought of a graceful way to extricate myself from his embrace, when he began to speak, "Mom...I..."

I pulled away and placed a quieting finger against his lips, "Don't say a word. Go get cleaned up for dinner, your father will be home soon." With that we separated and he rose and began to walk away. I had a mature thought then and in my best "Mother voice" said, "Bradley. Not a word about this. Understand young man?" He nodded his understanding and as he turned I'm sure I saw him smile.

As I stood to attend to dinner, I realized that Bradley had oozed his boy-juice all over me. I was wet in some spots but slimy with his semen on my blouse. I hurriedly cleaned up and changed clothes before finishing dinner. Dinner was late that evening, not so much as anyone noticed, but I dreaded being in the same room as my husband and son simultaneously.

All through dinner I would glance at Bradley and of course he would crack a smile that would send pangs of guilt down my spine, like daggers into my soul, I thought of little else all evening.

As we readied for bed, Bradley, as he is prone to do, gave me a hug and a kiss goodnight; but this time he whispered into my ear, "See you after school mom."

I know, an innocuous statement; an obvious fact that we always saw one-another after school. But in this instance it carried with it a meaning that made me tremble with the very real meaning attached to his loaded declaration – that we would see each-other "again" after school.

I trembled at the thought of letting it get so carried away.

Allan was tired and rebuffed my advances in bed, "I'm so tired babe." He said, as he rolled over and went to sleep.

I was a total wreck by morning. I slept poorly and with the guilt I bore my morning was just as bad. I dreaded three o'clock. That's when Bradley usually gets home. I watched the clock count down the last hour until I heard the door open and Bradley sang out, "Mom, I'm home."

My heart leaped to my throat. I wanted to flee, run for the safety of my room, hide if I must; but run!

Bradley found me in the kitchen, I turned away as he entered the room, but the movement was lost on him. He came up behind me and wrapped his arms around me, nuzzling my neck as he moaned his delight at being home.

I pretended to ignore him.