What happened to be most guys' dreams, happened to be my nightmare. I was eighteen years old, and I was of average height. I didn't have the face of a model, but not an ugly one either. There was nothing strange with me till you traced your eyes further down and saw my flaccid penis reaching the tip of my knee. It didn't keep my head up. It just made me feel like a freak.
It was August, still summer break, and I hadn't thought about my issue again until I met my first girlfriend, Sofia.
Sofia was a nineteen-year-old sweetheart, and we clicked immediately. I was mesmerized by her glossy hair and quirky humor. On our second date, I'd invited her home. It didn't take us long to kiss and for both of us to become aroused. We naturally stripped off one garment after another, and I was so excited that I forgot about my size for a moment.
With her young, perky breasts topped with fresh pink nipples, she sat there nude, and she reached for my belt and slowly unbuckled it. Her blue eyes widened as she noticed the giant bulge. "Is that your penis?" she asked, sounding more unsure rather than excited.
"Yes, that's my penis," I said, catching the doubt flickering in her eyes.
She slowly pulled down my underwear, and once she freed my erection, she looked intimidated rather than horny. "Adam ... I'm not sure about this."
"It doesn't hurt to try," I said.
It was just a mess from then on. The condom didn't even fit, and after I'd revealed her crisp, pink slit, I could barely get a third of my erection inside her before she cried in pain, and shortly after, the glow died along with my erection.
She left, and I sat in my bedroom, elbows on the desk, chin in my hands. The worst part was that my mother, who had convinced me to ask her out, was now waiting to listen how it went. My mom, a psychologist, had divorced my dad when I was really young. She'd always been there for me through my tough elementary school years, trying to understand what went wrong. She offered her unwavering support, but talking to her about this felt... complicated.
When she got home from work, she called up from downstairs. "Adam, are you there?"
"Yeah, I'm here," I answered, my voice low.
"Is Sofia still here?"
"No, she left," I said.
She came up right away. Being my mom, she could tell when something was off. "Mind if I come in?"
"Go ahead," I replied.
She opened the door and stepped in carefully. She wore dark stockings and a skirt, with a pink V-neck sweater that hugged her figure. Her long black hair cascaded down her back, and she'd painted her lips ruby-red. With her round glasses, she looked beautiful, something I'd been aware of since I'd hit puberty. She had just turned forty, but she didn't look a day over thirty. Her skin glowed with smoothness and vitality, and she didn't have a wrinkle on her face. That was part of why it felt hard to talk to her about private things--Sometimes, I worried my thoughts might drift where they shouldn't.
She sat on the ottoman next to me, her fingers running through my hair. "What happened?"
"She left," I muttered, looking at my computer screen. In its reflection, I could see the upper part of her creamy cleavage. Our eyes met briefly, and I looked away.
"Adam, you'll have to tell me a little more than that."
"We met, like usual," I said. "We kissed, and then... she just didn't want to see me anymore."
She studied me gently. "I don't think you're telling me everything," she said, not prying but trying to help me open up. "I know that look--it's the same one you had back in middle school."
"It's... kind of embarrassing," I admitted.
"How about this," she suggested. "Come by my therapy office tomorrow, and we can talk about it over there."
"But I'd still be talking to you," I pointed out.
"Yes," she replied, "but sometimes the setting helps you loosen up. Whatever's been bothering you has gone on too long. Whatever you tell me will stay there, just between us. Okay?"
"Alright. Fine," I agreed.
"You promise?"
"I do, Mom."
She kissed my cheek. "Dinner will be ready in an hour."
"Thanks," I said, feeling a little better after talking to her.
2
My mother's therapy office was only a half-hour walk from where we lived. I knew I had to tell her now; I couldn't let her down. It hurt to see her disappointed, especially when she did everything she could to make me feel better. I entered the office and took a seat in the lobby.
The sound of high heels clacked against the floor. She greeted me with a warm, motherly smile mixed with her psychologist character. "Come on in," she said.
I followed her into her therapy room. She wore an outfit similar to yesterday's: stockings, a skirt, and a buttoned blouse that fit a little too snugly. But today, she had on high heels, which only added to the sexual tension. Just as I was about to walk past her, she reached out and gently touched my right thigh. I froze at her soft touch, glancing up to see if it was intentional.
"Take a seat," she said, motioning to an armchair. "Don't be shy. I may be in 'psychologist mode' here, but I'm still your mom."
"I know." I sank into the chair, shoulders slumped, eyes fixed on the floor. Her sweet voice, calm and reassuring, helped settle me.
"I can tell something's troubling you," she said, lifting her notes. "Something deep."
My gaze wandered to her breasts, and I quickly looked away, feeling a little flustered. She cleared her throat, and rather than being offended, she looked slightly amused. "I prefer eye contact when we're talking."
"Sorry," I mumbled, struggling to keep my focus on her eyes. "Yes, something's bothering me. And it's... embarrassing."
"There's no rush to share it all at once," she said, crossing her legs, completely at ease. She was waiting, giving me all the time I needed, though her appearance made it hard to concentrate. My eyes kept drifting to her boobs and thighs, tempted to look further. "Take your time," she said gently. "I've waited this long; I can wait a little longer."
"Sorry about that," I said, feeling a little sheepish.
"It's okay, sweetie. If you need more time, I understand."
"I think I've waited long enough. I have... a body part that's bigger than average," I admitted, struggling with the words. I'd never told anyone this before. I'd held it inside so long it felt like a knot in my chest. "I didn't realize it was unusual until we started showering after the gym in elementary school. When my pants came off, everyone just lined up to stare at me. You know the rest."
She looked at me with a mix of sympathy and understanding. Though, I noticed she wasn't surprised. "I understand, and I suspected as much. It's tough going through that alone. Many young people struggle when they're the first to hit puberty. I've helped lots of kids cope through those awkward times."
"I get that," I said, "but eventually, others catch up. No one's going to 'catch up' to my size."
"Before we continue," she said, "can you clarify which body part we're talking about?"
I blinked. "You don't already know?"
"I have an idea, but I want to be certain," she said.
"I... don't know if I want to say it out loud."
She opened the window a bit, then unbuttoned her blouse, revealing a little more of her cleavage. "Remember what I promised you last night. We have something called professional confidentiality. Whatever you share here... stays in this room."
I sighed deeply and couldn't bear looking at her when saying it. "It's my penis."
She nodded slowly, and as I kept my eyes on the floor, I felt her glance briefly down between my legs. She leaned over, resting a hand on my thigh, her fingers gently moving closer to my crotch. "I can understand why it troubled you when you were younger, but it shouldn't trouble you now. As a woman--and your mother--I can assure you, it's nothing to be embarrassed about."
I watched as her fingers edged toward me, then withdrew at the last moment, like a tease. "Well, Sofia didn't exactly see it that way."
"She's inexperienced," Mom said. "I don't know exactly how big we're talking, but for a virgin, a large size can definitely be intimidating... but for an experienced woman, it wouldn't be."
"I don't know," I admitted. "It's just been a lot, from being bullied in elementary school to what happened yesterday. I didn't tell you this before, but in high school, they actually got jealous and started spreading rumors about me."
My mother gave me a sympathetic look, seeming relieved that I was finally opening up. "I went through something similar when I was younger," she said, leaning back on the couch and pushing her chest out a bit. "I was the first girl in my class to hit puberty, and my chest grew fast. The other girls made comments that embarrassed me--and most of them were pretty mean. I guess being well-endowed runs in the family."
I chuckled. "Yeah, I guess."
"I saw a psychologist back then, someone who's still one of my role models. She gave me the best advice for dealing with unwanted attention."
I leaned forward. "What did she say?"
"Just accept it." She rose and hung her blouse on a hanger. To my surprise, she only wore a pink push-up bra beneath, providing a potent view of the valley between her breasts. "People stare all the time and I don't mind."
I stared at them for a few seconds, before reminding myself that she was my mother.
She patted my thigh. "No, sweetie, look at them," she said. "I kind of knew beforehand what troubled you, so I know this will be good for your therapy."
"Looking at your breasts?" I asked.
"Not only looking at them but learning to let go."
"I think it is easier said than done."
She shook her head, making her breasts jiggle with her slightest movements. "I'll help you."
"How?"
"You must get it out of the closet."
My mind was clouded. "What exactly am I supposed to get out?"
"What you're embarrassed about."
"But I'm already sharing it with you now."
She shook her head. "No, not really. I want you to completely open up--show me everything."
"Are you sure?"
