Chapter 3

My son, Nick, was becoming obsessed with his own mother, and being the only one to be able to stop him, I failed miserably at it!

Truth is, I NEVER thought size mattered; that is, until I had a sample of size, in action!

Maybe it's just not size. I think Nick is attuned to me, having lived all his life with me. Maybe I'm so desperate for a man's love, ANY man's love, that I drink in the stolen moments without regard to the possible consequences of my indulgence.

I know positively that I did not seduce my son! He was the aggressor. I was just... only too willing, I guess.

But, oh! That penis of his! How could that've possibly come from his father?!?... Yet, the special growth rate was a dead giveaway!

What the hell was I thinking? I KNOW I didn't cheat! Ofcourse, Nick came from his father's loins!

Then, anthropologically speaking, one must look to the mother's genes!

I had to find out!

I left Nick a note, telling him I'll be back in a few days after visiting my father. I just hope he didn't think the worst - that I was going for help in turning him in!

My father is a widower, 58 years old, but still drives a tractor and lends other useful help around his farm.

I wanted to write a letter, but I had no time to formulate any words. I needed to speak to him, face to face.

The cab from the airport left me tired after a long trip, but seeing the old farmstead raised my spirits.

Yet, now I was tingling with nervousness as to how I could approach dad about his penis size. It seemed fairly obvious that my husband's genes accounted for the dramatic change from flaccid to erect, but only that, so I began to visualize dad, years ago, when I was so young...

Just then, dad's voice bellowed across the farm, "BABY, (he always calls me that) oh, baby, what a pleasant surprise! Come, right now; let's get you settled in."

He was so energetic, putting my coat in the closet, starting the coffee, rubbing my hands to make sure they weren't cold, and, did I just notice him checking out my cleavage? (... must be my imagination)

He made himself a peanut butter & jelly sandwich (I had declined anything to eat) while I freshened up. Then, we had coffee and talked about the normal things: My son, how was I making out, do I need anything?

"Actually, dad, and I don't exactly know how to say this," I stammered, "Nick has this... problem, let's call it. It's a delicate subject and I don't quite know how to say it without perhaps, causing some anger, here."

"He beats his meat and you've never seen a penis quite like it, or at least, that you can remember? Is that about it?" My father had completed the thought with such a knowing smile that I thought he had us tuned in on his TV!

What you DON'T know, dad, is that he inherited this condition from his father that...

Dad cut me off, again, before I could continue about the jekyl & hyde syndrome, saying, "NO HE DIDN'T! He got that beauty from ME!"

He was not only proud of it, but I think there was a trace of insult in his voice for me thinking it couldn't be him!