The Beginning and the End

I'm going to tell you a story.

It is a beginning and an end for all stories.

Each of us lives this story in our own version.

This is mine. So, it's about me, and it's about you.

My story begins with Margaret, my mother, but this story is also yours. Without her, you're lost at the outset. Read along, and perhaps you will find your story here as well.

It's too late for you to meet her, unfortunately, so you will have to be content to hear about her from me. I'm happy that I'm sharing this story with you now, because before too long, I will be joining her. And, though my storytelling may fall short, it's probably the best way to meet her, because I am her son, and there is no greater love among mortals than between a mother and her son.

My earliest memories are always connected with my mother's love.

When? Many, many years ago, when its only expression was in her smile. When her love seemed absent, because I was away from her. When her love was in the form of the strictest discipline, because her standards were so high. When we touched each other in body and soul, we were in our private world.

Looking back, I was always secure in all of these moments because I'd never doubted her. I lived in the fidelity of her being. Even when I couldn't see her, I was convinced that she could always see me. I always had the courage to move forward, as I was certain that she was watching over me like a guardian angel. Little by little, she guided me and trained me for life. With time, she extended the fence that she had erected, which was intended to protect me more than it was to keep me in. In between, it really got hot. But it's good to appreciate how exciting she was when you could feel her intent—because as soon as I felt ready to go further out, she always let me go further out. Then one day, she finally let me go. This is the story of that love and…well, how it was and what it was. That is the story.

I didn't even know that there was a story until particular events unfolded during my last year of high school. Up until then, I was in the cocoon of my mother's love. Even in early adolescence, I wasn't fully aware of just how much she participated in my inner life. It never occurred to me that I was anything other than alone as I started to discover how good it felt to play with myself. I was lost in that whole awakening to a world of sensuality unto myself. My thoughts were private, as if I were keeping this mysterious world that I was discovering like I was on a secret adventure. My feelings, shocking even to me at that time, were totally personal, and I was unable to keep up with the sensation of pleasure and powerful response that was so new to me. I sought out opportunities for private time to explore this new world with fascination, wonder, and incredible excitement, not knowing what might come next. And while I experienced it all, it was more like a fantastic dream than anything else.

Life Begins All Over

Thinking back to my eighteenth year, this is how it looked and felt:

All of a sudden, I grew tall, and that size advantage brought me some success and recognition as a ballplayer—anywhere where size was a plus. That experience, on the court or the gridiron, was in the world for anyone to see. But then I would retreat into my private world, and there I was totally alone, pulling my throbbing cock until I shot for the ceiling as I lay in the sanctuary of my room. I did everything I could to obliterate all the evidence of my sex rituals. When I left my room, I erased from my mind and my behavior any trace that might even indicate that sex, or anything even connected with it, was something that had ever entered my mind.

And then there came the day that my mom gave me a lift to the doctor to get a follow-up done. Some wires got crossed for the reporting of my routine physical, which was necessary to participate in high school athletics. As a result, there was a rush to get it done so that I could continue playing. It was a bit tense, because the only doctor available to perform it on such short notice was one whom we had never used before. She stayed late to fit me in that day. She was relatively young, rather attractive, and a complete stranger. It was also evident that she was a little baffled about how this whole thing had happened, to begin with. It seemed that the doctor was somewhat rushed, having made some room in her tight schedule in order to accommodate me.

Being unfamiliar with both me and the details or concerns that led to the exam, and the fact that she had sent everyone else home, she suggested that my mother follow her into the exam room in case there was any matter that called for her consultation. And what practitioner wants to be alone with a patient for such an exam? So, my mom was sitting there 5 feet away as the doctor was trying to catch up on my chart and absentmindedly asking me to disrobe. My mother isn't looking at me but only at her. My eyes were darting all over the place because I was about as uncomfortable as could be. The doctor was so quick and efficient that I didn't even have a moment to think about what she was doing or telling me to do next. Discomfort or not, I just wanted it to be over, so I went along with it.

The events of that visit almost defy description. Little by little, they became clearer, and in some measure, details of what occurred are to this day blocked out of my mind … Well, sort of, but that's all part of the story that I am telling here. If it's not easy for you, dear reader, to put it together, you're just going to have to wait—at eighteen, you can only expect so much. Part of the recall problem is probably due to the rush of blood that was flooding my brain, the blast of nerve energy that practically caused me to pass out in those moments, and the enormous amount of cum that covered me. I was functionally disabled. It wasn't until my mom started to cross-examine me in the car that my senses slowly returned, and I began to come to terms with the events that had occurred. This is exactly where the story unfolds.

The Ride Home

I was still in a virtual swoon when I started to notice how the ride home with my mom from my physical was silently awkward. But eventually she broke the silence and started talking to me: "You know... you could have said something," she said casually.

That really woke me up. I was still on edge from the whole scene on the exam table and shot back, "MOM!" I could feel the heat in my cheeks rising.

"I'm just saying," she said. Her voice was calm, and her blue eyes were placid. "You could have told us what was going on," she gently admonished me.

"Mom. I know. The doctor already explained this," I said flatly.

She glanced over at me. "Well... you know it is okay to talk about this stuff, right?"

Always authentic, this offering of hers was both simple and rich in kindness, but it did little to assuage my anxiety about the whole matter.

"Mom! Please. It's embarrassing enough. I don't want to talk about it," I objected flatly.

With that, she remained silent for a few moments as we drove. At the next intersection, she glanced attentively left and right, her abundant, wavy, blond tresses flowing right behind, but then she started again, "Well, I mean... now that I've seen it..."

"Geesh, Mom!" I cut her off. "Seriously. It's embarrassing. I don't want to talk about it with you."

"Would you rather talk about it with your father?" she asked, keeping her tone neutral.

I immediately responded, "God no!" The words nearly exploded from my mouth.

Nothing could have been more obvious. "I mean, really? He's never around, and when he is, he doesn't even speak to me. It would be more awkward with him."

"Well then, Matthew, why don't you want to talk about it with me?" she prodded.

“I don't want to talk about it with anyone, but especially you. You're my mom, and it's just embarrassing.”

I paused for just a moment, and when she didn't say anything, I continued, “I get it. I know you saw everything... and all that. But I'm just embarrassed, okay?" I said, flustered.

She, on the other hand, wasn't ruffled; she never seemed flustered …ever.

"Look..." she said with a soft and mild demeanor, "We have ten minutes or so until we get home. It's just you and me. We should talk about things. If we don't discuss it, we may have to deal with a problem later. Please, just try talking to me. Are you sure you're comfortable seeing that doctor again?" she asked.

"Yeah. She seems good." I said, "I liked her."

"Even though..." my mom said, glancing over at me. She was curiously sober.

"Yeah, Mom. Even though..." I said.

At the time, I had felt like a deer in the headlights. I had sensed the danger as much as the embarrassment and also felt as if I were under pressure and unable to find a suitable defense posture. She had seemed to dismiss both her question and my answer. I was at a loss. My mind was unable to process what was really happening. In the past, I had always done my best to be honest and straightforward with her, but matters of sexuality never came up. I hadn't ever remembered being in a position like this.

"Do you think it'll happen again?" she asked.

"No," I said honestly.

This was but another veiled question that really went nowhere.

My mom was quiet again for a few more minutes, but I knew this wasn't over. She was neither hostile nor accusatory, but I still felt somehow like I was in a sniper's crosshairs.

Finally, she introduced another twist: "So, you masturbate every day?"

My mouth fell open, and I just glared at her. Wow! Push me a little, why don't you!—I thought.

This was like a harpoon that burst right through. It was like she was trying to flush me out. This was about more than just the "physical" debacle, so I said nothing.

"What???" she said, glancing back at me as if she were surprised by my reaction. "You're going to be sheepish about that now? You could talk about it back there—but not here, with me." She struggled to keep her bright smile reserved, but it kept breaking out from behind her full lips. She was clearly unable to help herself.

I just looked at her grudgingly and shook my head in disbelief. Whatever she was up to, I didn't know, but I was having a difficult time going along with it. I had been in no position to ignore the doctor's questions, but this was on a whole other playing field, and I wasn't prepped for the game.

"Do you always ejaculate that much?" She continued as if we were having a conversation about it. "Because that seems like a lot of stuff on a daily basis." She was smiling as she spoke. "And I'm just wondering what you're doing with it, because... you know... I don't see it when I do your laundry... And I think I would notice all those tissues missing and in the trash cans."

As smart as she was, I still usually had a handle on where she was going when she engaged me—even as a teenager—but this was unknown turf and over-the-top prying. I finally had enough and erupted, "Okay, Mom! God... Stop it! No, I don't do it every day, and no, it's not usually that much stuff. Today was probably the most ever. Okay?!? Happy now???" I said, huffing and angry. I hoped this would shut her down. I mean, I was six feet two and still growing and would be quite happy if, at this point, she would stay out of my metaphorical trash.

She started chuckling. "You don't have to get so worked up over it. I just thought I heard you tell the doctor it was every day."

"Nooooo." Trying to keep it real, I corrected her, "I said it was more than twice a week, but not every day. Or something like that."

It occurred to me then that, for once, she herself might not even be sure where she was going with this.

"Ah, right," she said, nodding her head in agreement. "I remember now."

She wasn't fooling me. She was still smiling, and her flushed, fair cheeks betrayed an interest at a level far deeper than her invasive questions suggested. For her, it was actually a dopey thing to say. Maybe she didn't have an agenda at all, but something was brewing, and it was flat-out weird.

We were quiet again for a moment or two, and sure enough, it came 'round again: "And you usually don't ejaculate that much, huh?"

I glared at her again. "No, I told you. Today was the most."

She just kept pressing on the same nerve. I didn't want to say it the first time and didn't enjoy saying it the second time either.

"So how much is it normally?" She asked casually.

Wow! She wasn't going to let this go, but I really wondered, go where? This was very confusing.

"Gah... Mom... I don't know." My eyes shot daggers at her. I was at a complete loss and just blurted out, "I don't measure it. Less than today, though."

"A little less, a lot less?" She was dauntless.

"What the hell, Mom?" I snapped, "Why do you want to know how much I..." I struggled to say it, finally whispering, "ejaculate." As if someone would overhear me. I felt exposed. It was the first time I'd admitted I even knew what ejaculation was. It was like she was stripping me naked while I danced in front of her.

She shrugged innocently as if this were regular dinner table talk. "I'm just curious," she said, "and I'm just trying to pull you out of your shell a bit. Why don't you just try answering the question without getting upset and making such a big deal out of it?"

I considered the intent behind her question. Then I thought, so she wants an adult conversation. Maybe I shouldn't be so uptight.

But what guy talks about this stuff with his mom?!

I tried my best to relax and play along.

"Okay, fine," I said, taking a long breath. "It's usually a pretty small amount."

She glanced at me curiously, "Huh...??? So, not like today? I know you're a big boy, but I would say today was a lot." She raised one eyebrow, still fishing, as she glanced over at me.

"Do you really want to hear about this?" I asked frankly, just starting to sense what was going on.

She looked over at me and smiled kindly. "Yes, I do... actually."

Well, that was pretty straightforward, I thought.

She was impossible for me to resist. So, I shot straight. "Okay... well..." I took another breath and started slowly. "Usually, it's just a small amount." I paused a moment before continuing, "I usually just squirt a bit. It's not globs like it was today. Sometimes, if it's been a while... You know... then it might be... I don't know how you could describe it... more globby? Thicker, I guess? Like today, but not as much. But usually it's just a little bit that squirts out."

I was pleased with myself for being able to get clinical and elaborate so much. On the one hand, even though I had absolutely no idea why, it was actually starting to feel kind of good to talk to her about it. But then again, when it struck me that it seemed to make her feel good as well to hear about it, clinical went right out the window.

She mused somewhat for a moment and then asked, "Okay... So, compared to today... What would I have seen on a normal day? Like, when do you normally do it?"

What would she see?

Now this was getting too… Well, I couldn't put my finger on it, but for sure it was too much. I was stuck on how to overcome my reaction and explain it to her. I had to think about it for a bit. Maybe I can paint her a picture, I thought.

"I don't know... like... if I was lying down the same way? Um.... I'm guessing a little bit would have ended up in my belly button, and some would have been on my hand.... I guess."

She was happy with my response. She seemed to accept what I had said at face value and was neither impatient nor annoyed. Contrary to my impression that she was playing with me, I could see that she was actually trying to vividly picture it.

Still not satisfied, "So... why do you think it was so much today?" She probed.

"I don't know," I replied honestly. I was starting to regret ever answering her in the first place, so I said to her, "Mom"—I glanced at her—"it feels really kind of weird telling you all this."

"I promise I'm not judging you, if that's what you're worried about," she said and continued without a pause. "If you really don't want to talk about it..."

So, I cut her some slack, took a deep breath, and, in spite of myself, spit it out: "I was really excited back there."

Now, for some unexplainable reason, again I wanted to tell her. It felt good to tell her. But it still felt awkward, because it...