Chapter 1

My problem started soon after I had just turned 18. My name is Jacob and I’m just a regular kind of guy. Or so I thought. Ok, so I had a few issues back then, but doesn’t everyone at 18? For me most of these issues revolved around my mom being temperamental and difficult, and the way I had been brought up.

My mom, Margaret Addington, or Marge as she liked to be known, had divorced three years back, and now at 55, in the prime of her life, she had become a bit of a recluse. She’d given up on men, ‘I’m not giving myself to another man’ she would say angrily, when I’d suggest she maybe try meeting someone. ‘Not after all the trouble your father gave me’ she would continue. ‘One man in my life has been quite enough’.

My mom had a tough life until she divorced. She’d married quite late compared to others in her generation at 35, been my father’s second wife and it seemed he’d only married her to have someone cook and clean and provide some carnal satisfaction. They had argued a lot - as far back as I could remember, and enough for me to get sick of it.

Anyway, it all finally ended with a divorce and with me as an only child. And now mom just wanted to stick to working in her job of many years as a librarian until she retired, enjoying her garden, and the occasional women’s institute gathering, a few female friends and of course taking care of her only precious child, yours truly.

The problem for me in all of this was that I had been over protected, and mom had a fiery temper, and would be very controlling. She was also quite prudish and straight laced. Now, at the age of 18 when I just wanted to break free and experience life, I felt guilty about leaving her alone. We had no other family close by, so I felt obliged to stay on at home and go to my local college rather than move away. And that meant losing my freedom, and having to cope with mom’s controlling ways, and her moodiness and temperament.

This was not easy. Sometimes she would fly off the handle over the smallest thing. I’d argue back and then she’d sulk or not talk to me for ages until I came round to her way of thinking. And mostly, I would give in. I wanted a quiet life. It was either that, or the guilt I would feel by moving out. So I decided to stay. Looking back, I think that was a mistake in some ways, but as this story unfolds, you might think otherwise.

Before I go on, some descriptions. I was 5’8” average to heavy build with dark hair, and I wore glasses. I didn’t think I was bad looking, but I had never really made it with girls up to then, and never had a girlfriend. I was still a virgin at that stage.

Mom at 55, was 5’6”, with dark hair, which she liked to keep in a bun, and a dress size of between 12 and 14. She had filled out, so to speak, as many women do in their late forties and fifties, but she did still have curves and a figure of sorts. She had quite a voluptuous frame with largish boobs that definitely filled out anything she wore (I found out later she was a size 38DD), and a good-sized rear end, not gross, but quite a nice full, curvy bottom.

And if you were going to ask me ‘Did I ever fantasize about my mom sexually?’ my answer would be yes, of course. Many a time. Don’t most sons’ at one time or another? This story is actually about how those fantasies, quite unexpectedly became a reality.

So back to the story. I had just turned 18. Like most guys I had been masturbating for some years. I had what I thought was a reasonable stash of porn — magazines, videos and DVDs. Then for some inexplicable reason I started to develop a regular ache in my balls which I had never experienced before.

It would start gradually in the mornings and then build up to an uncomfortable feeling by the end of the day. The only way to relieve the discomfort would be to bring myself off and get rid of my cum when I got home in the evenings. I’d have to do it at least three times during the course of the evening.

By the end of my third wank, I’d be fine and comfortable again. And the funny thing about this was I always seemed to have plenty of semen. I never seemed to dry up or produce a small quantity, even after the third time of the evening. After a few weeks of this I decided I needed to get some medical advice. There was surely something not quite right.

I felt embarrassed about going to our family doctor. I had never really discussed anything sexual with mom before (as I said before, she was quite a prude and didn’t approve of ‘modern girls’ behaviour), but I felt as this was a health issue, I should ask her advice on it. I didn’t know who else to turn to, in all honesty, I didn’t really want to discuss it with my friends.

One evening after our dinner we were in the living room. I was reading a magazine and Mom was knitting (I was only allowed a TV in my room as mom rarely watched TV, refusing to have ‘those awful shameless programmes with semi nudity and violence mixed with commercials ‘ in her living room).

“Mom, I’ve got a bit of a problem,” I said.

“What’s that dear?” she said, not looking up at me.

“Well,” I replied rather awkwardly,” It’s a little embarrassing.”

“Come on Jacob, speak up,” she replied rather sternly this time, and giving me a cursory glance.

“Well, it’s a little personal” I continued again, hesitatingly.

She stopped her knitting, straightened up her body a little and looked at me rather seriously.

“Tell me young man,” she said keenly, “Have you got a girl in trouble?”

“Er ... no mom,” I replied. “It’s more of a personal health thing.”

“Go on then,” she said relaxing a little and starting up her knitting again. “Don’t be shy.”

“Er ... well its about my ... er,” I hesitated, “ ... private parts,” I said hesitantly, and in a low tone.

“About what?” she said loudly.

“Well, it’s about my testicles” I said not looking at her but the carpet in front of the sofa.

She stopped knitting again.

“Go on” she said, more gently than I had expected.

“Well, I seem to have some aches and discomfort there. I was wondering if I should see a doctor.”

“Are you sure you’ve not been with a girl and caught something?” she replied accusingly.

“No mom, honestly” I said.

She thought for a moment. “How long has this been going on?”

“A few weeks” I said

“A few weeks?” she replied questioningly. “Why didn’t you say anything before?”

“I was embarrassed. And I thought it might clear up by itself.”

“Oh,” she said, looking concerned.

“Well, I’m not sure what I can do except get you in front of a doctor. I’m not too keen on you seeing our family doctor Jacob because our health center is full of gossips and I wouldn’t want my son to be thought of in a funny way, they’ll probably think you’ve caught something off someone.”

I felt a bit horrified that mom would think like that, but I could sort of see her point.

“I’ll have to take you to a private clinic,” she said after another pause.

Two days later we were both sitting in the reception of a private sexual health clinic. Don’t ask me how mom found out about it, but she had been busy making phone calls after I raised my little problem.

We went in to see the doctor together. As we entered the consulting room I saw a desk behind which a largish looking lady in a white coat was sitting. There were two chairs in front of the desk and to one side of the room a standalone curtain rail on castors, behind which was an examination table. Mom and I both sat down on the chairs.

The doctor was a mature lady, she looked liked she was around 50, chubby and buxom, and with greying hair. She wore glasses, but had quite a pretty face and wonderful deep blue eyes.

She looked at mom and then me, smiled and then said in a quiet matter of fact way.

“Hello. My name is Dr Taylor. It’s Jacob isn’t it?” she said, looking directly at me. I nodded.

“Your mother contacted us about a problem you are having,” she continued. “I know you are 18, and old enough to see me on your own, but she wanted to sit in on our little consultation.” She briefly glanced reassuringly at mom and then back at me.

“Is that ok with you Jacob?”

“Er ... yes, sure ... I guess,” I replied, a bit timidly.

“Now, what appears to be the problem young man?” she continued.

I explained the problem like I had to mom previously, only with more embarrassment. The doctor listened patiently and took some notes as I spoke.

“As you are just a young man, there could be many reasons for your condition,” she said looking at me then at mom. She spoke quite confidently and without any embarrassment. I guess she dealt with sexual problems all the time.

“It may just be a phase and nothing to be too concerned about, but we do need to do some tests,” she continued.

“Firstly, I need to examine you,” she said. “Come over to the examination table.”

I had been expecting this with a bit of trepidation.

I went over to the table and lay on it.

“Undo your trouser button and belt,” she said, as she drew the curtain rail around us so mom could not see.

I had undone my belt and top button of my jeans and lowered the zip a little. She put on some latex medical gloves which were cream coloured and tight fitting on her hands, and pulled down my jeans and underwear in one yank, as I moved my hips up to help clear the way for the material.

I was exposed from the waist down, my private parts showing.

“Just relax,” she said.

I felt her hands first touch and lift my limp cock, squeeze it gently along its length, and then feel around my balls, cupping each in turn. Then she pulled back the foreskin of my penis for a moment, taking a look at the skin there, and then let it go back to normal.

“Any pain when I touch your penis or testicles?” she said, looking at me for a moment.

“No,” I replied. But I do still have a sort of ache in my ba ... I mean testicles,” I said. It goes away when I ... er ... you know ... masturbate,” I said meekly.

“I see,” she said, still looking at me and then licked her lips. She seemed to linger her tongue around and outside her lips a little longer than I would have expected. Or maybe that was my imagination.

“Ok, Jacob” she said finally, “Get you clothes back on and come back to the desk when you are ready.”

She took off her gloves, apparently satisfied, washed her hands in a sink next to the table, and walked around the curtain back to her desk.

I made myself decent and joined her and mom a moment later. I was still thinking about the way she had licked her lips.

“Well,” said Dr Taylor, “Everything appears normal on the physical examination. What we need to do in a case like this is take some blood tests and samples of your semen.”

“Ok,” I said, rather timidly. Dr Taylor then looked at mom and said firmly.

“Mrs Addington, I assume you are happy to go ahead with the tests?”

“Yes, of course” replied mom.

“Good. Now, I’m going to ask you a few questions Jacob,” said Dr Taylor looking back at me. “Don’t be embarrassed. Firstly, do you have a regular girlfriend at the moment or have had one in the past year?”

“No” I replied.

“Have you been with a prostitute in the past year?”

“No,” I replied.

“Have you had casual sex with anyone in the past year?”

“No,” I replied.

Dr Taylor ticked some boxes on a form as I gave my answers.

“Right,” she continued, “As I mentioned before, this is not something to be embarrassed about, it could just be a phase you are going through as many young men do at or around puberty. Some boys develop later than others and everyone can have slightly different experiences.”

“For the blood test please see the nurse outside, who will take some samples, and I will let you know the results of those in one week.”

“Now, the other thing is samples of your semen. As you are describing an unusual amount in quantity, what I need from you is a record of how much you are producing.” She looked at mom and then me.

“Now, it is very important that we get an accurate record as possible. So what I need you to do is use this.”

She opened a drawer of her desk and pulled out what looked like a clear plastic beaker, about 5 inches in height and 3 inches wide at the open end, and with some measuring lines on the side.

“It’s better that you don’t use a condom to masturbate into as much of your semen will get stuck to the insides of it and so we will lose the accuracy of the measurement. This beaker has been specially treated on the inside so that all the semen flows to the bottom and then you can take a measurement using the lines on the side,” she continued.

She looked at mom again and then me, making sure we understood. “Is that ok?”

“Er ... yes,” I said, and mom said the same.

“Now, Jacob, when you masturbate you need to aim the tip of your penis at the centre of the beaker and make sure your cum goes into the beaker. Make sure you don’t spill any. After every session of masturbation, measure the amount produced and write it down on this form.” She gave me a couple of sheets of paper with grid lines on and columns marked ‘date’, ‘time’ and ‘quantity’.

“In order to get an accurate sample, I need to know how much semen you are producing everyday for 2 weeks. I will arrange an appointment to see you again in 2 weeks time, and depending on the results, I may ask you to continue to keep a record of how much semen you are producing for a further two weeks after that. Is that clear?”

Mom and I both nodded.

“Now one last thing, is that when we ask for samples like this, we normally find from experience that most men require the help of their partner, girlfriend or wife in collecting the samples, because it can be quite awkward for a man to catch all his semen when he masturbates into this beaker.”

“In this case,” she said, looking at me directly, “I hope you will be able to manage, but if you have difficulty,” she continued, now looking at mom.

“Perhaps your mom will be able to help. It is nothing to be embarrassed about as we are dealing with helping to resolve your condition for medical reasons.”

Dr Taylor paused for a moment, still looking intently at mom.

“Would that arrangement be ok with you Mrs Addington?”

I glanced a look at mom, who looked a little perturbed, but then composing herself said.