by Sam Jason 11/03/13
Father: Arthur Zosyx, Insurance Manager, age: 48
5'4", 238 lb.
balding, poor personal hygiene, sedentary
penis: 4.2" long, 1" diameter
volume of ejaculation: 0.4 cc (average= 4.0 cc)
Mother: Amanda (Mandy) Zosyx, school volunteer, age: 42
5'9", 135 lb, 38D-26-36
athletic, dark brown hair (short wavy cut), active, sexually frustrated
Son: Shawn, going into senior year (HS), age: barely 18
4'10, 98 lb.
thin, frail, very intelligent, persuasive
penis: 9.4" long, 2.4" diameter
volume of ejaculation: 12.7 cc
Time of year--Summer vacation
"I'll never agree to a sperm donor," Arthur said.
"But, it's been 10 years of trying," I said. "If I don't get pregnant soon, it's never going to happen. Shawn will never have a brother or sister. The doctors have said you have too low a sperm count."
"I bet it's your fault. You just aren't fertile any more. I know I do my part every month when we have sex. You and your date circled on the calendar when you supposedly ovulate."
"I just think you should consider the option to have me get pregnant by artificial means. It wouldn't mean you're any less of a man, Arthur, and we'd have another child."
"No way! Not in a million years. I'm not going to have another man's sperm in you. You're my woman, and that's the end of it. And don't try anything behind my back, because I know everyone in the local medical community and know where all the money is, so you can't pay for it."
"I wish you wouldn't be so unreasonable, Arthur." I started crying. But, my husband ignored me, walked out the door, and went to work.
I sat there at the kitchen table, sobbing, until my son Shawn came in.
"Mom, don't be sad. I heard everything, again for the millionth time. You know Dad's not going to change his mind."
He reached around me and gave me a hug. I wiped my eyes and hugged him back, feeling how thin and delicate he was, my just-turned-18-year-old beautiful boy. My pride and joy. I didn't know what I would do if I didn't have him.
"I'm sorry you had to hear that again. The same old thing. I guess I have to start facing the truth. You'll never have a brother or a sister."
"Isn't there any other way, to get pregnant, I mean?"
"No, Shawn. The doctors have said I'm fine, but your Dad can't produce what's needed any more." I thought of the pitiful few drops that my husband produced when I last gave him a quick handjob when he was too tired for sex.
"Well, how about somebody else's sperm? We learned all about that when that lady that had all the babies was in the news."
"Your father won't allow it. And it's too expensive."
"How much do you really want another baby, Mom?"
"Oh, Shawn, I want one with all my heart. I would do anything to know another little life is growing inside me. It would fulfill me completely. That's why it's hurting so much."
"Then, why don't you, you know, fool around just once and get pregnant on that day you mark off on the calendar? Just once. Dad would never know."
"SHAWN! What would make you say such a thing. I've never cheated on your father and I never will! And if I did, your father would know the baby looked nothing like him. That's a totally stupid idea."
"Aw, Mom, it wouldn't be like you were doing anything wrong for the wrong reasons. You'd be doing something right for the right reasons. Just for that once and that's it so you have another child for the rest of your life. That seems like a good deal for me."
I couldn't believe I was having this conversation with my own teenage son. He was encouraging me to have a one-night stand with some guy just to have a baby. As crazy as that sounded, it did have some logic to it, but I could never stand the thought of being intimate with some strange man, no matter what the motivation. That would never, ever happen. I needed to have some affection, some love for the man I allowed into my body.
"Subject closed, mister. We're out of ideas on that subject." Shawn sat down and looked thoughtful. I wiped my eyes and tried not to cry any more in front of him. I would hide the pain from now on. That's when Shawn spoke again.
"What about me, Mom?"
"What about you?" I asked. I thought he was talking about also wanting a brother or sister.
"You said Dad would know if the baby didn't look like him."
"Yes, young man. That's called genetics. A baby looks like both his parents.
"Well, everybody says I look a lot like both you and Dad."
"Yeah. So?" I wasn't liking where this seemed to be heading, but still wasn't sure I could believe what I was beginning to suspect."
"So, if you used my sperm, Dad would never know. The baby would look like both of you. Problem solved!"
I was speechless. My son, my young son had just suggested getting his own mother pregnant. It was so unexpected and preposterous that I couldn't even give words to the protest my mind was thinking. I just sat there with my mouth open.
Shawn continued: "Dad would think it's his. He would be happy thinking he's the big man, and you'd be happy that you're pregnant. And, I'd be happy you two weren't fighting all the time and I had something to do with making things better."
"Making things better? Do you even realize what you're saying? Listen to yourself. You're talking about being a sperm donor for your own mother. And, if you weren't listening, it costs a lot of money to have that one. Your father would know all about it, and know about who the donor was. Some plan."
"Dad doesn't have to know," he said.
"Shawn, you're talking nonsense. There's no way he wouldn't find out. So, thanks for the brilliant idea, but no thanks."
"There's one way he would never find out," Shawn said.
"Oh, and what's that?"
Shawn got up, and before leaving the kitchen, looked into my eyes, and said, "We could, you know, make love."
I didn't know what to say. I thought I had been shocked before, but this was a whole different level of surprise. My son, my flesh and blood had proposed having sex. My face got red with shame at just the thought of it.
"Think about it, Mom," he said, and touched my arm as he passed by.
I pulled away from his hand as if it was an electric wire and yelled, "You go to your room and stay there. I don't want to even look at you."
I spent two uncomfortable hours thinking about the horrid thing my son had cooked up in his misguided brain. How could he even contemplate such an idea? And, even if he did have some wild hormone-driven fantasy, how could he tell his mother?
I finally justified his actions by factoring in his age and his goal of stopping the fighting, the drama that had been escalating.
I took my mind off it by doing the wash and folding the clothes. I had heard Shawn's TV in his room, but as I approached with his clothes, I just heard his voice. More accurately, I heard him making soft noises.
His bedroom door was open about an inch, and I peeked in before knocking and entering with his clean clothes. I had a clear view of Shawn. He was lying on his bed without his shirt on, and his running shorts were pulled down to his knees.
His right hand was wrapped around his penis, and he slowly stroked it up and down, up and down. I should have quietly left and given him his privacy, but I was stunned. Shawn was a frail boy, under 100 pounds and not even 5 feet tall. But, in his small hand was the biggest penis I had ever seen. It must have been over 9 inches long, and probably as thick as my wrist. Even bigger was its purplish head.
The tip of it glistened with lubricating fluid.
His father's penis wasn't half the size of this shaft.
He was mumbling something. I shifted my head and traded my eye for my ear at the opening. He said:
"Think. Think about it. Think about it, Mom."
Then I looked again, and he increased the speed of his fist. It became a blur as his hips began to buck. I was watching my son masturbate, and it was pretty evident that he was thinking about me!
A soft "Aaaahhhh!" escaped his lips and the black hole at the top of his penis turned white with sperm. Shawn had angled his thick cock so it was pointing towards his face, and that first gush sent a solid stream of thick goo all the way to his neck with tremendous velocity and force. This repeated.
"One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten!" I counted to myself. That's how many times he spurted volumes of semen and sperm onto his neck, chest and stomach. It looked like he had spilled a small glass of milk onto himself.
He gave one last hard pull and squeeze while whispering, "Mom."
I was both disgusted and confused by what I was feeling. I should have immediately left when I saw what was happening. I was ashamed and embarrassed, but had other thoughts swimming in my head, too.
Shawn slowly took a wad of tissues and mopped up the mess. These he tossed into his basket.
That's when I silently backed away and went to my bedroom.
I sat on my bed and stared silently at the wall. I heard myself whisper, "All that sperm." I couldn't believe how much Shawn had ejaculated. It was ten times what his father could manage. I thought "That WOULD get me pregnant!" How could it fail to get the job done at the right time of month? That would fill any woman to the brim, soaking her eggs for sure.
On shaky legs, I stood and went to the kitchen. I made Shawn a sandwich for lunch.
"Shawn, lunch is ready," I called.
He appeared and looked timid, probably afraid I was still upset.
"You're not still mad, Mom?"
"No, Shawn. I overreacted, and now I'm thinking you were just trying to help and didn't know how wrong it was to suggest something like that. You're usually so smart, I forget you're still a little boy." I reached out and brushed his hair off his forehead.
He pulled away, saying, "Awww, Mom. I'm not a little boy. Someday you'll see that!"
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