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This story got its start based on a rumor about a gorgeous local television anchor a few years ago. A few weeks after the rumors started, she left the station and I never heard about her again. Needless to say, the names and characters here are fictional and they are all over the age of eighteen.
“Mom, how much semen can a man produce in a day?” my daughter asked me out of the blue.
“What!?” I said, shocked and staring at her incredulously. I was stunned not only by her question, but by the fact that she chose to ask me with no warning just as I was sitting down at the family breakfast table. It was even more awkward because her younger brother Steven was walking into the room just as she said it.
“How much semen can a man produce in a day?” she repeated.
Now Steven was staring wide-eyed at her as well. An uncomfortable silence enveloped the room as both of us looked at my nineteen year-old daughter across the table. Heather sat quietly, scooping yogurt from a cup, her blue eyes locked on mine, awaiting an answer to her perverse question.
“Why would you ask me such a thing, Heather?” I said after a long pause. “That is certainly not an appropriate question.”
Heather blinked, and then looked down bashfully, a red blush crept up from her neck until her cheeks were scarlet. I watched her carefully, trying to judge if her outrageous question was meant to anger me. She sat primly in her chair, her honey-blonde hair swept back from her face, her eyes sincere. Her behavior and question did not seem to be an attempt to make me angry but I was still flummoxed by her question and did not know how to respond at first.
I needed time to gather my composure and walked to the counter to fill my coffee cup. I looked out the floor length windows of our penthouse condo to the city skyline and Front Range beyond. It was going to be a beautiful day I thought, my flushed mind refusing to accept the sordid question my daughter had just posed to me over breakfast.
In the reflection of the windows, I could see our whole family assembled around the breakfast table. Heather sat at the table with her back to the windows. I noticed she was not dressed for class yet – she was wearing her favorite sleeping attire, a satin and lace peach sleep shirt. Her tanned legs peaked out below the mid-thigh length of the shirt. Heather was my pride and joy. Her conception had been a surprise, but she had always been a wonderful and curious child. She used to dote over her younger brother as they grew up. I knew she was a beautiful and confident young woman, albeit a bit sheltered from the real world problems of her peers.
Steven, my youngest child, had just turned eighteen. As usual he was wearing an old threadbare pair of pajama bottoms and cutoff t-shirt. Steven was roughly my height now, but still had the wiry body of a teenage boy. He slowly moved into the kitchen and sat at the table across from my normal seat. His light brown hair reminded me of his late father’s. My son was a youthful and handsome boy.
I looked at my reflection. I was already dressed for work. My sweptback frosted blonde hair was shining in the early morning sun. I had not put in my contacts yet, so my green eyes peered out through my black-framed glasses. My colleagues always joked that the librarian had called and wanted her sexy glasses back. I was wearing a new satin white blouse and short black skirt combo that was now the de rigueur uniform of local television newswomen. You see, my name is Erin Morgan, I am the longtime late news television anchor for Channel 8 in Denver.
When viewing my reflection, I noticed that in the morning light, my new blouse was almost transparent and my bra was very noticeable. I reminded myself to make certain that my suit jacket was fully buttoned before we started the Nine O’Clock News broadcast tonight. I did not want video clips of me appearing in a see-through blouse on the internet – although I jokingly thought it might improve our ratings.
Looking back at the reflection, I smiled thinking that we looked like the perfect family; although I doubted that most families would talk about semen at the breakfast table. Steeling myself, I sat back down and looked pointedly at my daughter who had stopped eating her breakfast yogurt and was looking at me, waiting. Not sure how to respond, I snapped at her, surprising all of us at the table.
“You should be ashamed of asking such a dirty thing,” I said. “Especially with your younger brother here.” I looked over at Steven, who was also sitting quietly with a stunned look on his face.
“I’m sorry mom, I didn’t know he was in the kitchen,” Heather said. She paused, trying to judge my reaction before continuing. “I didn’t mean it in a dirty or naughty way, it was just something I was curious about because of a conversation I had with Cindy after class yesterday.”
“And why were you and Cindy talking about … umm … that?” I asked, quickly glancing at Steven. I am not güvenilir bahis certain why a thirty-nine year-old professional woman should be afraid to say a word like semen, but I felt my heart begin to race a bit as the nature of the topic I was discussing with my only children began to fully form in my mind. “That is not a topic you should be discussing with anybody,” I said to my daughter.
My daughter was now quiet. I realized my sharp rebuke had gone too far and now I felt sympathy for her. From her demeanor, I could tell she was uncomfortable in asking me her question, but still had the courage to do so. Still her question was so out of character for her, I could not fathom why she would ask such a thing. I looked again at my daughter, and slowly a slight smile formed on my face, trying to reassure her that I was not angry at her for raising such a topic over breakfast.
“I’m sorry, Heather,” I said. “Your question just startled me, that’s all. Why were you and Cindy discussing that…? Again, I just could not say out loud what we were talking about. Heather looked up at me and then quickly at her younger brother.
“Well…Cindy said she caught her brother watching a dirty movie on his computer on Saturday night, and she said that in the movie the boy…ummm…sprayed a bunch of his … umm … stuff all over a lady’s back, covering it. I didn’t believe her.”
Now I was even more embarrassed as I looked at my children sitting at the breakfast table staring back at me; seemingly waiting for an answer to a question that remained forbidden in my mind. As the uncomfortable silence continued, my professional training as a reporter finally kicked into gear, and I focused on the question itself rather than the uncomfortable atmosphere that pervaded my kitchen.
I was used to handling difficult and surprising situations in my job, and I convinced myself that my training and experience should allow me to shift my focus away from my embarrassment to my role as a single mother of my two children, so that I could answer my daughter quickly and truthfully in order to bring the conversation to an end. I was the adult at the table and knew that I needed to reassure my children that their mother was not afraid to discuss uncomfortable topics with them.
“Heather, I am not certain what Cindy’s brother was watching on his computer, but you must remember that…umm..porn is not real life. It is just made up and exaggerates things. What Cindy saw and was telling you about is fake. Umm…I assure you that a boy could not cover a lady’s back in his…semen,” I said.
As the words exited my mouth, I looked from Heather to my son, pausing just as I said the word “semen.” His eyes opened wide as I gave my answer. I began to feel a slight tingling in my body as I looked at him.
“Really, mom?” Heather asked again. “I don’t think Cindy was making things up.”
“Heather, I don’t mean that Cindy was making up things, I meant that in the, uh, film she saw, that was make believe. Men can not ejaculate that much semen,” I told her confidently.
“I think I remember reading once that the average amount of ejaculate is about 3.5 ml,” I said. I did not tell her that this matched up with my memories of her late father’s sperm production as well.
“How much is that?” she asked.
“Umm..I think that is about a teaspoon or so…” I said. “So you can see that Cindy’s brother’s movie was just made up and not real life. The movie just exaggerated, that’s all.” I was confident I had addressed her question honestly and now hoped the conversation could come to an end.
At that point, I heard Steven cough, and looked over at him. He was staring at me, or more accurately he was staring at my chest. His eyes shifted quickly up to my eyes once he noticed I was looking at him.
“Is there something a matter Steven?” I asked him. Heather looked at her brother as well. The silence once again descended into the kitchen.
“Um..no mom, I mean, I guess not,” Steven said quietly. This was unusual for Steven because he usually was very comfortable discussing all sorts of things around the breakfast table. I could tell by his posture that he wanted to tell me something, but for some reason was hesitant to do so. I pressed him further, not realizing what my prodding would ultimately lead to.
“Spit it out, honey.” I said, brushing the stray blonde hair from my eyes. I peered at him over my eyeglasses and I could tell he was shifting in his seat uncomfortably. “I can tell you have something to say, so out with it!”
Steven’s eyes were shifting all over the place now. Between my eyes to his sister, and then back to me with a quick glance down from my face to my chest. I could tell he was either embarrassed or uncomfortable with the topic being discussed by his mother and sister.
“Steven, you know I have always told you both that I want you to feel free to talk about anything with me. I do not want you to feel embarrassed or scared to talk with türkçe bahis me about whatever is on your mind, so go ahead.”
Steven was not looking at my eyes again, but seemed focused elsewhere, looking downward and then quickly he looked back up at me. “I don’t…I don’t think that is true, mom,” he finally said.
“What is not true?” I said. I was confused, because I tried to be very clear that I wanted both he and his older sister to feel comfortable talking about anything with me.
“Umm…I don’t think you were right about the amount of…uh..cum…I mean sperm, that a man produces.” Steven stared at me sheepishly. I was taken aback by my young son’s comment. Heather gasped as well.
“Steven! What have I told you about inappropriate language,” I said. I could feel my cheeks starting to flush and the tingling in my body increased sharply at my young son’s use of such a dirty word in my presence. By now I could tell that the conversation with my children had taken a turn into uncharted territory.
Raising Heather and Steven as a single mother, I tried to be a strong and confident woman, pursuing a difficult career and still spending as much time as I could with them even as my son and daughter grew older. Now with Heather in her first year at the local college and my son in his last year of high school, I wanted to make certain I did not neglect their needs and allowed them their freedom, but also prided myself in raising them with a mildly religious upbringing that was meant to shelter them from outside influences as well as provide them with a moral compass to guide them.
Heather had made me very proud when she received a full scholarship to the local Catholic university, and Steven was performing well in his high school grades and would likely follow his sister next year at the university. Still as a busy professional woman I sometimes forgot how quickly they had grown.
I could still fondly remember little Stevie hiding behind me with his small arms wrapped around my leg tightly whenever we would meet a new neighbor or a colleague would stop by our home. Heather was also shy as a young girl, but seemed to blossom once she reached high school and initially excelled on the swim team.
Unfortunately she was blessed, or cursed, with her mother’s genes, and her body soon lost its streamlined contours as her breasts developed to match my own. By the time she graduated, with her voluptuous body robbing her of her swimming speed; her focus had shifted to her studies, and she excelled in all her classes like she had previously performed in the pool.
Steven was still somewhat shy, and although he had some close friends, most of his pursuits in high school were academic rather than athletic. He still liked to swim in our small rooftop pool. But I imagined that was more of a chance to try and compete and spend time with his older sister, whom he had always looked-up to and adored. After their father had died, and we moved around the country to different television markets, both of my children had been forced to spend much of their time together.
Still I tried to make certain, even with my late work schedule, that we could have breakfast together every morning. It was the one time of the day that I looked forward to more than any other. But with Heather spending much of her time at the university, I treasured our time together in the morning even more now. Which made the present conversation, as awkward as it was developing, something I knew I needed to pursue so that my children did not feel we could not talk about anything.
“Stevie, why do you think that I was not telling the truth?” I blurted out. “I think it is pretty well-established medically how much semen an average male can produce. I read up thoroughly on the topic when we broadcast that investigative report on the fertility clinic last year.”
Now Heather was also looking intently at her brother as I pressed him with my questioning. I felt reassured that my authoritative response would wrap the conversation up quickly, but my son evidently had other ideas.
“Well, it just seems like a teaspoon is a rather small amount of cum for a guy,” Steven finally said. Again I was taken back by his use of the slang word for semen in my presence. He looked down at my chest before looking up to me again. I could tell he was embarrassed.
“I am sorry mom, you always told us we could say anything to you, and well, semen sounds so old-fashioned of a word,” he said.
“Okay, I guess I can let it slide while we discuss this…issue,” I said. “But I still want to know why you think a teaspoon is a small amount of…umm…cum,” I said, surprising myself that I was now repeating such a vulgar word in front of my two children.
The tingling in my body was electric, and for the first time I glanced down; noticing my nipples were erect and jutting through my bra and satin blouse. It dawned on me why my son had been staring at my chest – he was focused on my erect nipples. güvenilir bahis siteleri My mouth was dry and the electric charge in my body was now centered on the tips of my large breasts – pulsing with pleasure as I noticed my son once again glance down at my chest.
Steven looked up at my eyes again, questioningly. His eyes flitted to his sister, who had remained silent during the most recent exchange. “Yeah, Stevie what are you mumbling about,” she said across the table.
“Uh, I mean…well…that seems like a small amount … in … um … my … uh … experience,” he stated. Now he was looking down in his lap. The room was silent, as both his sister and I began to grasp what he was trying to say. The tension in the room was now undeniable.
“Oh,” I gasped, “Well…what in your…personal experience…do you believe is the amount of … cum… a boy can produce?”
I shocked myself with the question and how I framed it. I was now freely using the vulgar term for semen and had switched from using “man” to “boy” in asking my son the question. “Why did I do that?” I thought. I am so careful in my questioning, and realized I had unconsciously asked my son the question in that particular manner because I suddenly was curious to know how much cum that he produced!
I was stunned as that realization hit me, but my body was now on fire with sexual tension. Looking across at Steven I could see that he was floored with my question and his eyes were wide open and locked on my mine, between the repeated moments he glanced down at my turgid nipples with laser-like intensity.
Heather coughed at my questioning of her brother. “Mom, how can you ask Stevie THAT?” Heather said.
“What do you mean, honey?” I said. “I just wanted to know how your little brother is so sure about the amount of cum that a boy can produce, I thought that was what you originally asked me, and your brother disagreed with my answer. So, I believe it is only fair that he explain to me why I was so wrong, when medical science clearly supports my answer.”
“But mom, you are basically asking Stevie how much … um … cum … shoots from his wiener!” Heather said, her face flush with excitement at using such words in front of her mother. In the process she unknowingly moved the conversation into even further forbidden territory.
I had a slight smile on my face as I responded to her, laughing inside at the sweet childlike phrase she used to describe her brother’s penis while also using such a vulgar phrase as “shooting cum” in the same sentence. As a proper mother, I should have put the conversation to an end at that point, but by now both my nipples and pussy were pulsing with an intensity I had not felt in years.
Stevie was stunned by the turn that the conversation had taken. He looked back and forth between his sister, my breasts, and my eyes – each time his eyes lingering on my breasts longer than the last. At this point, I could not stop the feelings coursing through my body. I had not been this sexually aroused since I had begun dating their father so many years ago. I felt like a horny teenager and was amazed how much I was enjoying the forbidden thrill of it all.
Without realizing it, I took a deep breath and my breasts jutted further out from my body, pointing towards my eighteen year-old’s wonder-filled eyes as my young boy now freely gawked at my boobs. I had no clue where this conversation was leading, but I knew I did not want it to end.
“Honey, how could you say that? I was not asking Stevie how much cum shoots out of his wiener!” I said, repeating her childlike word with a knowing smile
“I was simply asking your younger brother how he was so certain that a boy could shoot more cum from his … cock … than what I had read. I am sure that Stevie’s wiener is quite normal in the amount of cum that shoots out of it.”
I looked back at Heather bemusedly, relishing in her shock at my “upping the ante” with the amount of vulgar language I was using in front of my children. I noticed that when I said the word “cock” both of my children looked flushed and amazed that I was using such language in front of them. They had never heard me use such a dirty word before, and I was enjoying the pleasure I was receiving in shocking them with my vulgarity.
The truth was I had never so much as cursed around my children before that morning. In fact, sexuality is the one topic that I had tried very hard to shelter both of them from. I was not certain why I had done so, probably because of my fears that they could go astray and get into trouble without having two parents to guide them. I did not think I was being a prude in sheltering them, but now I wondered if by refusing to discuss sex with my children, I had kept a wall between us. Regardless, my mind raced with excitement now that the taboo topic of my son’s cum had been broached.
I looked back at my daughter and saw that she was breathing heavily too – her firm breasts were rapidly rising and falling as she sat dumfounded. I was happy to see that like my own, her breasts were now capped with two jutting nipples protruding from her thin sleep shirt. Obviously our taboo discussion had aroused my daughter as well.
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